


Meating Monsters

by Bee_Knee



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Horrortale, Angry Sans, Cannibalism, Classic Au, Gaster Blaster Sans, Gen, Good Ol' Fashioned Murder, HT!Sans - Freeform, HTSans - Freeform, Horror AU, Horrortale Sans (Undertale), Literal Soul-Searching, Love, Monster Dust (Undertale), Optimistic Sans, Possessive Sans, Post-Undertale Neutral Route - Empress Undyne Ending, Protective Sans, Sans Has Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-04-05 11:43:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 29,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14043546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bee_Knee/pseuds/Bee_Knee
Summary: Horrortale Sans is stuck in an Underground where the only source of magic is dust.Empress Undyne died long ago, having been eaten alive by her ravenous subjects. No ruler had dared claim the throne since, for they too would be eaten.Sans's magic now runs red with Determination and it's the only thing keeping him together. Constantly bombarded with painful memories of the past, Sans does his best to reinvent himself.- Horrortale AU eventually crosses over into the Undertale AU.





	1. A Dusty Larder

Sans placed a new addition into the pantry and he stepped back to admire his collection. Countless jars lined the shelves, each glimmering to the brim with dust. His smile grew tense as he noticed his reflection on the glass surfaces—things had changed.

Sans did everything he could in his power to keep reminders of the past out of his mind.

He took up new hobbies, met new people, and even found a new house!

Specifically, a house he found inside the Ruins. It had been empty, yet was oddly well maintained. The original occupant had been a mystery, until Sans found a journal full of puns—it had belonged to an old lady—a friend since reduced to dust—perhaps having fallen down.

That's when he knew, the old lady behind the door wouldn't mind if he settled in.

Sans was sad sure, having a friend alive would've been nice but…only dust was on the menu.

He seriously doubted the old lady would have agreed to eating dust. Sans himself could barely stomach the stuff.

Sans opened the fridge and it was empty save for a few pints of spider cider. The stuff was black and tar-like, either from pulped bodies of spiders, or perhaps it was mold—maybe both. It tasted good enough anyways.

Carefully Sans poured a conservative glass, not even filling it half way before putting the rest back. He took his rationing seriously and Sans was optimistic that he would survive long enough to drink all the cider anyway.

To add to the meal, a jar of dust slide onto the counter—a special one. The jar was what was left of the old lady. Sans had taken the habit of talking to the jar of dust and tended to fondly recall the puns they'd shared whenever he glanced at it.

The memories hurt some however and Sans knew it wasn't wise to keep up such an unhealthy attachment. The old lady was something he needed to let go. It wasn't good to live in the past.

Slowly, and with some reluctance Sans poured the last of the dust into the cup of cider. It wasn't much as the jar had been freely used before.

Carefully, the dust was stirred in and Sans chuckled as it was the closest thing he got to cooking—perfect for the lazy lifestyle he so coveted.

Briefly, his single left eyelight flickered red around the grimy kitchen—reflecting on the times he actually had the fortune to cook.

It had been when he first moved in. The kitchen had been stocked with ingredients—still fresh with magic. Flour, eggs, sugar, and an array of snail products had been stocked.

The old lady had left a legacy of recipes throughout the house and it was fun working out a new hobby. Sans had taken to making a pie once every week-partly to honor the old lady and of course to earn the reward of a delicious meal. Of course, he'd rationed out the slices, never helping himself to more than one daily. Eventually it was only half a slice a day and then later dwindled down into a single bite. Sadly, despite the rationing, the ingredients all run dry and couldn't be stored inevitably anyway.

Magic in the Underground was practically gone and food simply didn't keep like before. The magic stored inside leaked out like the rest.

The only thing that didn't was dust—it was magic condensed into a solid form and wasn't able to leak out of the barrier. Shame it tasted like garbage.

Giving one last glance to the now empty jar Sans took the cider cup into the living room. He sipped slowly, savoring the taste of the old lady and let himself remember her. There was a fire place and inside was the old lady's dusty robe—colored various shades of purple and stamped with the symbol of the Underground kingdom. Sans suspected she had been the previous Queen, or at least a royal disciple—though any answer he'd found had long been forgotten.

Sans made the habit of not remembering details about people that didn't matter anymore.

It kept the flickers of his conscience at bay.

He crouched down at the fireplace and with drink still in hand, carefully caressed the robe—a final good bye.

With a flick of his finger, a tiny magic flame popped into existence and ignited a fire. The blaze at first burned a jarring red, but slowly dwindled into a calming blue.

Sans's magic took on a deep red ever since he gained the nasty hole in the left side of his skull.

The giant hole in his skull gave Sans a constant headache and using magic always caused a degree of pain.

Honestly, he didn't remember how he got the injury and the memory was long buried. If he eventually remembered, great. If he didn't, even better! Sans knew he'd obsess over the incident if he did.

While the past no longer interested Sans, his magic sure did. Magic came in different colors, but never did he hear of it changing mid-use. He leaned back, sipping the cider. It took some effort to remember but he managed to theorize that the red was determination. The blue no doubt was his original magic.

Determination, huh? He scratched at his damage socket nervously as he recalled. He'd undergone experiments in his youth that gradually pumped his bones with the substance. It was how Sans remembered the resets…

Crack.

Suddenly, the cider cup was clutched violently. A sharp pain had shot through Sans's skull as he willed himself not to remember. Sans shook and snarled as he held in a scream.

Nothing was wrong!

No! No. Nope. Don't think. Forget the past. Don't think. Forget the past. Forget. Forget. Forget.

The cup being glass, had shattered and was leaking. Quickly Sans drank the dripping dust down.

Shards of glass fell apart in his hands and he began to eat the pieces—in part due to having no flesh to cut. The glass was like eating ice, save for the lack of a cold, melting experience. His teeth chipped a bit, however. Glass was glass.

Of course, dental problems were the least of Sans's issues.

His teeth had undergone a transformation ever since Sans's magic grew feral with bad intent and dusty meals. The canines had grown sharp and saber-like, molars had twisted into jagged shapes, with the grin overall was webbed in cracks.

Sans had taken up the nasty habit of biting with excessive force whenever something found its way inside his mouth.

On occasion, he found himself chewing nothing, imagining long lost tastes and textures when he dared to peruse the old lady's vast collection of cookbooks. Sometimes he would rip out pages and eat books whole, but nothing ever satisfied.

His teeth would be ground flat during such fantasies—though the feral magic never failed to regrow the sharp enamel.

Sans clawed at his teeth to remove bits of glass.

He hoped to forget the taste of the old lady soon.

Sans sat, admiring the fire—hypnotized as the flames drew him into illusions. The fire had shifted from blue to orange—the magic now gone. The fire became the default of nature.

At the color orange, he couldn't help but think of Grillby.

The bartender had been another friend. Sans glanced at the kitchen. Was Grillby in one of the jars in his pantry?

Sans hissed, almost whimpered as he curled in on himself—he didn't remember who was in those jars!

Of course, it was for the best. He didn't want to talk to jars for company. It was silly.

Perhaps Grillby was alive? The fellow had been a fire elemental, so finding food should have been easy in theory. Plenty of trees and wood in the Underground for Grillby to eat, but Sans had his doubts…

He continued watching. Cruelly, remembering the delicious scent of a greasy burger and fries—oh, and ketchup.

Black drool seeped from Sans's teeth, glimmering with dust and glass. Oh, ketchup. Just the idea sent Sans's mind reeling…

Suddenly, he stood up. The fire was only bringing unwanted memories and his bones rattled as if startled. Sans would have smothered the flames, but then he remembered the old lady's robe—he'd let it burn in peace. Time for a walk then.


	2. Flower You Doing?

Sans went out the front door of the house, briefly stopping to admire the bastardized garden. Fungus was the only thing left growing and it came in a variety of amusing colors-sometimes glowing.

All the bushes and trees had turned into their brown skeletons. Sans smiled as he patted a dead trunk, feeling a sort of kinship.

He walked down deeper into the ruins, not too worried about traps or surprises. The place was technically his territory or an extension of his house. No other monster but him lived in the area ever since he moved in. Much of the dust in his pantry came from the Whismers and Froggets that once populated the area.

Sans eventually came to a notable room. In the center was an empty pedestal and legend told it once held a bowl of candy. It was surrounded by flowing water—a sort of fountain system used by the old city. Sans dunked his head into the water, using his phalanges to clean his sockets and teeth respectively. A good cleaning did wonders for clearing the mind and his smile relaxed as he noticed his reflection.

He began to make various faces, manipulating his smile as best he could. First he looked vicious, having long perfected the art of intimidation. Next he tried to look friendly, his brows stretched back awkwardly. Then Sans remembered the ridiculous poses and expressions the super-star Mettaton had loved to make—he had watched so many of those bone rotting shows that he could never forget!

Inspired, he struck an extravagant pose! Standing on one leg and the other ridiculously outstretched.

Sans was a graceful blue flamingo! It was a dance pose if he remembered correctly, but he didn't have time to try any moves before gravity pulled him down.

Splash!

Sure, a bath wouldn't hurt any.

"Sans, water you doing?"

"Oh, it was just a little soak—all part of the act!"

"Looks like I should wash what I'm doing!"

"I should spray I can get back to land!"

Sans flopped back onto the ground, soaked to the bone.

He chuckled as he wrung his clothes dry. That had been a nice distraction.

Continuing his walk, he came to a few spike traps that were easily navigated. He always hoped to find something interesting on the traps when he visited, but nothing had cropped up save for the first few days he moved in—when monsters were still around to get caught.

Sighing, he grinded his teeth. Fresh meat would be marvelous. To his dismay he still tasted the old lady.

Pushing forward he came upon a familiar chamber. A hole high in the top of the cavern was the only place surface sunlight reached the Underground. It was currently night, so no light shone below.

Fortunately, Sans had long adapted to darkness and could no longer tell the difference. Any lighting methods besides candles and fire needed magic, so the Underground was left largely in darkness anyway.

The hole was also a prime spot for magic leaking out of the barrier and Sans felt a shiver up his spine as he looked up. Sans felt a thug in the air—perhaps his own magic was being siphoned away—being so close!

Instinct told him to leave, but the faint scent of buttercups gave him pause. Flowers or any foliage besides fungus was incredibly rare. In leu of sunlight, it had been magic that kept everything alive. If monsters didn't have enough magic, plants sure didn't get any!

He crawled up to the flowers, looking up at the hole, anticipating something falling in. He knew humans fell into the Underground via the hole. The old women's journal had made that clear.

Sans stared up and started drooling a black tar—he grin slowly morphed into a yawning abyss.

His mind wandered and he fantasied about what would happen if another human fell down.

It'd be perfect.

He'd smash the human on the head.

Or no! Snap their neck so the skull would stay nice! He always wondered what a pristine one looked like. Would it share his smile?

Then Sans would skin the human—maybe make something nice like he'd seen in those movies with animals. A human rug—a human jacket—a human handbag? Ha, the possibilities…

Though Sans would make it a priority to be very careful with the bones.

Maybe the skeleton inside would come to life? He'd get a friend.

It was fun to pretend it was possible.

Sans continued to stare up at the hole, hypnotized like he'd been with the fire. The magic leakage may have lulled him into a catanionic state.

The black drool bubbled more freely. It coated his clothes and flowers underneath withered as the drool splattered onto petals. Sans rattled as he freely lost himself in imagined killings. A cruel red radiated off his bone—murderous intent—a magic signature that would forever mark Sans as dangerous.

He just wanted some meat. Something fresh. Fresh. Fresh. Fresh. To eat. Would it be sweet?

No! No. Freedom is what he really wanted.

His jaw unhinged as if he was suffocating-a frustrated scream gurgled.

Gggccrreeeeeeeeeeee! The ground suddenly shifted—something moved! That hadn't been Sans!

The jaw slammed shut and the drool swallowed. Sans hadn't screamed and his lone eyelight snuffed out.

That scream hadn't been him! Meat. Food! It could be his! Something alive was nearby!

A predator in his element, Sans scanned all directions for movement. His skull swiveled freely on his vertebra, having the look of a dangerous owl.

He found a flicker of movement-right beside him! He pounced, half slamming into his prey.

Ahhhhhhuagh! The prey screamed.

His claws dug into loose soil and uprooted buttercups. Captured, it struggled against the claws and his eyelight burned red into the prey. It was…a buttercup?

First Sans thought he'd imagined the prey—an addition to his growing list of unnamed delusions. Only instinct kept it in a firm grasp, and it had been right! The buttercup was moving! And on closer inspection it had a face. It was prey!

"Axe fag! P-put m-me d-down! L-let me go!"

Axe fag? That was new.

"Trash bag!"

Ahhh, he remembered that nickname.

"I'll snap your s-spine like the n-needle it is you trash! Trassssssssssssh!"

Sans didn't say anything as he looked over his prey.

Its face brought back an eerie nostalgia, but he couldn't pinpoint why.

He had forgotten, which was strange considering the subject.

Sans had been confident he would've been able remember something as odd as a talking flower. Apparently not. How disappointing. This thing wasn't an echo flower.

"Oh, hello Stuttercup." Sans chirped, half choking on the words.

He for sure met the guy before if he was comfortable enough to make puns.

"Arghhhh!" The flower seemed to love its dramatic noises and recoiled as if struck.

Sans observed, filled with curiosity.

"Sooo Stutters…what are…what are you doing in my territory?"

Sans spoke slowly, words muffled by either drool or his decreased ability to make conversation.

The flower twisted himself around San's wrist like a snake, alarmingly fast!

Sans let him, feeling oddly at ease. He remembered the flower a tiny bit—was he a friend like the old lady? It wasn't something to ask about…least he…offended this friend?

He left the flower go. Its not like he could eat it…or could he?

It crawled all the way up to his clavicle and stared down into his sockets. It eyed the broken one with a smug expression.

"What!? Your terri…tory?" The flower scrunched up its face, resembling a lemon.

"Smiley, I think you're confused. This little patch of sunlight—" Flowey looked up at the hole. "—has always been my domain!"

It stretched and reared up like a snake, towering over Sans, trying to impose some unspoken authority. Sans stood still, amused.

"Awwww heck, the Ruins have always been my place in the Underground! Why are you here?!"

The raw anger coming off the flower was dumbfounding. The Ruins had belonged to Sans for a very long time—so long in fact that all other monsters were gone, save for this one. What it even a monster?

Usually with a monster, Sans would be able detect a soul—that delicious patch of magic that always led his senses to the target; but, the flower lacked that. He would have eaten it already if it had. He loathed again to admit he still tasted the old lady.

The flower was looking intently at him. Oh right, it wanted a reply.

"Where is your magic….stutters?" Sans honestly didn't remember the flower's name. He tried though—very very hard. And got a headache as a reward.

Sans glanced up at the hole—slightly brought back to reality.

He needed to leave. Magic was leaking and he was a source.

The flower puffed up at the name. However, it smiled a testy patience as it leaned down to eye-level with Sans. It again eyed Sans's broken, snuffed out socket with unchecked interest.

"Smiley, don't go trying to mess with me. That's my job to do to you!"

It all happened so quickly! Or perhaps, Sans had grown slower.

The flower shot into San's empty socket, jerking Sans's wrist upward to help guide the rest of its body quickly inside. A snake had found a den.

Sans stood still and clenched his fists. The intrusion had hurt a little, but his attention was set on the hole and he backed away—especially when he noticed all the drool he had previously gurgled up!

That was bad, the black stuff was dust his bones had converted into an oily fuel. He'd have to eat again to get his magic reserves back up. Else he risked falling apart!

Done with the place, Sans headed back home with his passenger in tow.


	3. Rules and Drool

The flower had gotten comfortable, curled up like the snake it was.

Unlike an undamaged skull, the sockets were connected to the hallow cranium. Whatever caused the injury had punctured cleanly, starting at the left back of the skull and had flown out of the now blinded right socket. The damage left the flower with two entrances and exits—how luxurious.

It peeked out of the top hole in Sans's skull, observing the change in view with some disbelief.

"Hey Trash Bag! Aren't you the least bit upset about me claiming a piece of real estate!?"

Sans grumbled a reply, having nothing to say. The only thing on his mind was eating more dust. He scratched at his sockets as the flower inside caused some itchiness, but no longer pain.

The flower hissed and darted back inside when a claw grazed its steam—obviously threatened. Sans did not intend to rip it out however—he supposed some company would be nice.

"Soooooo….that's a no?" The flower whispered and remained still, it was unnerved for sure.

Sans wanted to get a good look at his passenger so his eyelight did an interesting trick. The eyelight wasn't fixed to his socket ever since the damage. The eye could move freely around the skull to change view. It turned around, staring at the flower all curled up—it looked comfy. Good, that was good.

"W-what the heck! Trasssssh, put that thing away!" The red light was blinding to the flower.

The eye then traveled to the back of the skull, peeking out to view the sadly uninteresting ceiling of the Ruins. For a full inspection the eye floated over to the broken socket. The eye could see out of it, as it was a hole.

The damage that had been done was the destruction of one of the initial eyes so Sans was technically blind in one socket.

However, using the correct and undamaged socket was far more comfortable, so the eye settled into its original place.

Throughout the walk back, the flower remained silent—perhaps due to the weird eyelight trick. Sans smiled as he thought that was the case.

Entering the house, Sans was greeted by the scent of smoke and embers in the fireplace. He eagerly went to the kitchen and inspected his dust collection. The old lady had been the only jar with an identity and Sans felt a bit disappointed as he pulled out an anonymous jar to eat.

The scientist in Sans wanted to compare flavors between dust. Perhaps rabbit monsters tasted sweet? Did fire elementals taste like charcoal? Would a frogget make for a good chicken substitute? Should he mixed them up to make new flavors? Heck, if he knew.

Without having labeled the jars, Sans couldn't make solid conclusions. Though dust might have been like blood—having the same taste no matter the creature—save for the occasional exception of course. The gelatinous monsters, moldsmal, came to mind.

Sans made another dust drink and downed it in one giant gulp. He settled down in a lone armchair in the living room—a buzz of relief hummed in his bones.

"Well…Stutters…you like the place?" The question could have referred to either his skull or the house—Sans snorted, amused.

The flower popped out and twisted around to address the eyelight.

"Axe-tard that joke wasn't even funny the first time—it's trash like you! Stop calling me that!"

Okay, that posed a problem. Sans had no idea who this flower was. It just looked familiar. Its name was Stutters wasn't it?

"Ok."

"Call me a pun or anything close and I'll be taking out your other pathetic excuse for an eye! Are we clear you trashhhahh—"

Sans pinched the flower behind its petals, threatening to pop its head off. His other hand gripped the rest of the stem to minimize struggling. He had no tolerance for the idea of becoming blind.

"Let's start over." Sans's eye burned—a visible anger.

The flower cowered. Some petals flaked to the floor.

"I'm Sans—Sans the skeleton. And you are?"

"Flowey—call me Flowey."

"No more names—for either of us. Fair?"

"Fair…"

Sans moved his hand to caress the face of the flower—an equivalent to a handshake, right?

Flowey was released and retracted back into his skull.

Sans moved his eye to observe Flowey—the conversation wasn't over yet.

" So, Flowey—" Sans paused, that name was a simple one. "—what have you been up to?"

Sans hoped to learn more about Flowey, maybe something would jog his memory.

"Hrmph, trasssshhhhssss….erh, no S-Sans! Like you'd care and even if you did I'm not telling you a thing."

Flowey moved closer, almost enough to boop Sans's eye. "Anyhow, I'll be the one asking the questions! Sa..Sans, mind telling me why you are in Toriel's house of all places?' 

Sans rumbled thoughtfully. Toriel. Had that been the old lady?

"Don't you have your own to get back too?...Oh, and a brother…or am I wrong?"

The expression on Flowey's face was mirthful as Sans's eye shrunk into a red dot, his thoughts about Toriel completely derailed.

Claws began scratching at the sockets--he didn't like to think of his brother, Papyrus. Flowey hissed as he was certain he would be evicted.

However, Sans only continued scratching—turned deranged against his own bones. His ribcage rattled and his slippers had fallen off—his clawed toes dug into the wooden floor, flexing back and forth.

Sans himself was oddly silent, and Flowey dared not push his luck in demanding a reply.

The scratching persisted and it became apparent Sans was again in a trance—deep groves marred his face.

Eventually the damage reached a climax as the bottom of Sans's socket popped off from the skull—increasing the hole.

It was agonizing! Sans stopped scratching immediately! He fell onto his knees, hissing as marrow from the wound dripped into his skull.

Flowey in turn, snarled. The marrow was disgusting and he rolled around as if it was acidic, but he was careful to nothing—drawing attention to himself would not have been wise.

Carefully Sans stood up and blinked a few times back into reality. Gently he picked up the bone piece. Flowey peeked out, curious of what Sans would do.

Sans wasn't surprised. It had only been a matter of time before the scratching caught up with him. He walked over to the other side of the house, into a hallway with bedrooms. At the end was a mirror he made use of.

Unsurprisingly, the wound was dripping marrow. Some seeped into his teeth and he was pleased to see that he no longer tasted the old lady. Sans was tempted to collect the marrow into a jar, but fixing the wound took priority.

Sighing, he popped the piece back in place.

Crack.

The fracture stung and burned, but didn't hurt nearly as much as the initial break.

Sans had to hold it in place. His claws flared with magic, trying to call upon a healing intent.

The only magic that manifested was red, however. The red magic only made the pain worse, charged with the automatic intention of dealing damage.

Pain in addition to Sans's disturbed mental state likely made the creation of green magic—kindness given form, impossible.

Sans could no longer heal.

Sans didn't have to make the mental revelation, as the magic dispersed—he already innately knew. Flowey giggled, having realized. "Wow, never thought the day would come! Hahah, huh Smiley? Looks like you don't have an ounce of good left in yah. Guess we're more alike than I thought, hahahaha!"

Smiley, that name wasn't insulting right—it was kinda true.

He'd let it slide. Sans was boring name anyway.

"Yeeeaaah…yep. Looks like I'm bad to the bone." Flowey stopped laughing.

Sans hands twitched and the piece popped again out, clattering to the floor. Sans stared down, disappointed. The dripping marrow could have been confused for tears, if the other socket had been damaged as well.

Sans briefly caught his reflection in the mirror then sadly bent down, gently cradling the piece.

It took him longer than normal to decide what to do. The piece was placed against his teeth, mindful of his bad habit of biting anything that got between.

He bent his head back, sucking in any stray marrow—before reluctantly pulling it away.

"Ahh, Smiley! Sick! That's dissssssgusting!" Sans felt Flowey roll around his skull—it tickled, heh.

Regarding the piece, Sans couldn't eat it-as much as he wanted to. He'd simply have to heal the old-fashioned way. He went back into the kitchen for another helping of dust before retiring to a bedroom—the old lady's, as the other available bedroom had clearly belonged to a child.

Sans had since transformed the bedroom into his own place. Any spare clothes he had, decorated the floor and bones from past meals were stuffed under the bed. Sometimes Sans passed the time laying in bed chewing on the old bones, getting lost in pretending to eat something solid.

An addition Sans was particularly proud of was his ever-growing fur and skin collection. He could make a museum with all the articles he'd acquired. He had perfected the art of skinning and the result was always a soft hide. He'd gotten fur from dogs, scales from various fish species, tough leather from lizard monsters, and so forth.

Most hung on the walls or were tossed on the floor along with his clothes. The softest furs he lined the bed with—might as well make use of them where he could.

Though Sans had left the original old lady's possessions largely undisturbed. A lot wasn't stuff he flocked to.

Then again…he popped open a drawer in the old lady's dresser.

Oh, how scandalous!

Socks! Dozens and dozens! Socks a plenty!

Sans grabbed a handful and pressed them to his face. By the stars, Sans loved socks! Used to be a bigtime collector, though it didn't appeal anymore. Too many reminders.

Unfortunately, Sans got a whiff of a few bad ones—the smell reminiscent of the taste of the old lady.

Splamack!

The socks were tossed in a clump violently to the ground—disgusting! Socks are forever ruined!

Despite the incident Sans dug around the drawer until he found a pair of particularly long socks—stockings, cotton ones.

He carefully tied the piece back onto his face, looping the stockings between his sockets, just about his nasal cavity. The result was ridiculous and Sans didn't dare peer into the mirror. He shrugged, it was the best he could manage at the moment. The house lacked healing supplies as magic tended to be the cure-all throughout the Underground. It also didn't help that the Underground had been abundantly peaceful in the past. Shame.

Sans curled up onto the bed. He hugged greedly articles of his fur collection and Sans draped a favorite over his head—a big fluffy white one. He suspected it had been Greater Dog once.

Sleep came quickly and peacefully for Sans.

Flowey on the other hand, didn't bother with sleep.

He gazed at the stockings with a twinge of amusement at the ridiculousness. He stretched out of the skull hole, staring down at Sans with malicious intent.

The skeleton, though clearly mad, was still stupid as ever!

Flowey could dust him without a problem, with his guard down like that. Yet Flowey did nothing to attack. Sans was far more useful and amusing, alive. He recalled the walk in the Ruins and how he got settled into the skull. If Flowey was being honest, Sans's skull was a nice piece of real estate. The hole in the back of the skull allowed Flowey to stretch higher than he could normally. He enjoyed the change in perspective and not having his roots fixed into dirt for once was oddly refreshing.

Overall, as Flowey observed the sleeping fool, he felt powerful. It was nice not to feel so small for once. Lucky for Sans that he was better as bones than a pile of dust! Sans may not know it, but Flowey had him at his mercy!

Sans was his property.


	4. Tasty Bun

Sans awoke to a familiar headache and he groaned, partially drooling as a throbbing pain had made itself known. The fur of Greater Dog was wrapped around his skull like a hat, perhaps it would help distract from the pain.

"Sans, oh Ssssmiley. Wake up you boney loaf! We've got work to do!"

We..ve? Got…work? No. No. No. That wouldn't do.

"Man, don't I feel bread." Flowey grimaced silently, not wanting to encourage such stupid puns.

Sans sat up carefully, in obvious pain. He whimpered and Flowey smiled at the pathetic display.

Stupid smiling pathetic little trash bag. A big murderous baby he is.

Again, a hefty glass of dust was on the menu and Sans sluggishly shuffled throughout the house, holding his skull.

The pain had amplified throughout the night—doubling or even tripling in the original intensity. Sans dared to approach the mirror and see.

Ahh, that's why. An overwhelming burning sensation had creeped up onto his face.

The wound had taken on an intense red and yellow coloring. The marrow had crusted over the crack, but some places were left open to the air.

The piece had a thin blush of purple—bruising, meaning the bone was weak.

Lovely. Sans had broken bones before and the wounds never had looked so bad. Of course before, healing magic had been an option for major fractures.

Still, Sans couldn't help but look at the wound with some alarm. The pain was different and his face was incredibly warm. His mind mulled over the possibilities…infection? Was that the word?

Did he have that? Maybe. The burning sensation was not normal!

Sans tapped his skull and Flowey slithered out with a drowsy expression.

"Mornin' Flowey."

"Right…you look hideous and sick—more than usual."

Sans lightly poked the wound—immediately regretting it with a pained hiss.

"Don't touch it you idiot! It'll get infected!"

Infected. Ahhh, so his suspicions had been right.

"Right." Sans grumbled, and red sweat began to gather on his skull. "You…uh..got any…ideas?"

"Hrm?"  
"You…got any ideas? On what to do?"

"Oh sure, I've got some suggestions! Firstly, you should rip out your other socket, make things nice and even. That creepy eye has got to go!" A vine rubbed the inside of his undamaged socket for emphasis. "Maybe there is hope of salvaging that ugly mug of yours, Smiley! Maybe knock a tooth or two out while you're at it."

Geez, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.

Sans pinched his nasal cavity, trembling as he mustered all the patience left in his weary bones. The flower's voice was reminiscent of an annoying child. He was so happy he didn't have any kids.

"Wow…damn…flower."

"Seriously Sans, think about it! Just scratch a bit more and—"

"Shut. It."

Flowey hissed, but didn't push his luck. Never with Sans the lunatic.

Sans leaned against a wall. He would have gone back to bed, but the throbbing pain had brought on a weird sobriety. Perhaps if he went to sleep he wouldn't wake up…

Firstly, Sans wanted desperately to stop the intense burning the wound was festering with. His skull was getting drenched in sweat and a dizziness was eating at his bones. He imagined his marrow was bubbling.

So…the wound was burning—like fire? Simple, he'd have to just cool things off, right?

Sans went into the kitchen and placed his head in the refrigerator…it wasn't working.

As in the fridge was turned off.

The spider cider had been at room temperature since forever. Silly stupid Sans.

Right…that's right. Electricity in the Underground had ceased when the Core was shut down. The Core needed magic to function.

When the discovery of the barrier leakage was made, the Core couldn't have been left to run.

It consumed too much magic that would have just leaked out faster. Plus, if it was on when the magic ran out it had the potential to cause a nuclear meltdown—vaporizing the Underground in a doomsday calamity!

Yeah…Sans couldn't think straight if he'd forgotten that sad historic event. The shutdown had been years ago!

Okay, things were desperate, Sans concluded. He needed to cool the wound, else the bone piece might just cook itself. Honestly, it's a meal he would like to avoid. He would eat himself, but he wasn't crazy enough to actively seek it out.

The solution was obvious…Snowdin. That winter wonderland just lay right outside the Ruins!

The snow is just what he needed.

Crud, he couldn't go back there! Back there, back there was…Papyrus!

"Sans!"

He couldn't risk it. He couldn't!

"Sans!"

A vine wrapped around Sans's neck vertebrae. That caught his attention. He scratched at it and it quickly retracted back into his skull.

"Damnit Sans, that hurt! Crazy trash, what are you doing!?"

He shrugged.

That's right. What was he doing?

Sans sighed, rubbing his skull carefully. Guess he was taking a trip to Snowdin.

"Uh…I'm gonna go to—" Sans paused as his headache suddenly spiked in pain.

"-Snow…Snowdin…we're goin'…"

Flowey mercifully remained silent as Sans walked out of the Ruins. The Ruin doors locked once closed. He would have left the doors open, but he was too paranoid his stash of dust would be stolen. No key existed to the Ruins as far as he knew.

So Sans was stuck with having to teleport back inside. Honestly, Sans wasn't sure if he could anymore…just the thought of focusing all that magic made his skull spin. Well, as long as nothing stole his magic, he'd be fine…

Sans viewed the snowy landscape with detached interest.

The once lush forest was bare, completely. Not a leaf in sight. Just rows and rows of dead branches. Shame, it meant hunting by stealth would be a bit more challenging.

His slippers made a familiar crunch on snow as he walked. Snow was flaking from the air and Sans tossed his skull back to catch some flakes on his teeth.

Nope, it wasn't snow, despite how white it was. It was dust that was blowing in the wind. The lack of magic made weather rarer in the Underground and fresh snow was becoming more unheard of. As Sans walked deeper into the forest, the snow gave way to bigger and bigger chunks of mud.

Sans came across a patch of clean snow, which he viewed with some reverence. He carefully laid down face-first and spread out his limbs, making a backwards snow angel. Immediately he could feel Flowey writhe around his skull as snow poured in and again it tickled. He should freak out the flower more often.

Sans allowed himself a genuine smile when the burning sensation of the wound transformed into a numb one. He moaned in relief—the cold was wonderful! Why had he hesitated to come back?

Flowey peaked out from the back, looking slightly perturbed—but remained silent.

Sans rolled over and made a large snow pomp, sitting down on it like a beanbag chair. He stretched out his spine and relaxed, almost falling asleep…

Until he remembered. He left Snowdin for very good reasons.

Sans didn't like the place—too many bad memories associated with it. He growled as a vivid incident came to mind.

All the dogs in Snowdin had rallied together into a massive pack once a "Dust or Be Dusted" world was established. The pack had destroyed the place overnight and ate monsters right out of their beds. Sans had been a major target of theirs. He was a skeleton, made of bones—a dog's favorite snack!

The pack had tracked and chased him throughout the Underground—each time he was found he was forced to deplete his magic reserves via teleporting. Sure, he'd kill a few stray dogs, but that just made the pack hunt him more frequently.

Sighing he stood up, popping his spine with an audible crack.

With senses on the alert he traveled back to his old sentry station and he plopped down into his spot without hesitation. Oddly, he felt safe underneath the structure, despite the rotted roof threatening to fall on top of him. Sans rubbed the undamaged side of his face against the welcoming surface of splintery wood.

The entire station had an abundance of small bite and claw marks in the wood, courtesy of Sans. He fell into the familiar habit of chewing on the counter wood.

Sans's teeth were dirty and cracked. He ripped off a chuck of wood as if it was meat. It wasn't hard, the wood was rotten and soft, almost soggy. He hardly had to chew as it fell apart at the slightest touch.

The taste was delightful as Sans's absence allowed various layers of mold to grow. He eagerly chewed the most infected pieces—it was technically food. Sans was happy to eat something solid for once.

"Would it be possible for you to act normally!? Geeze Sans, your taste is awfully sick!"

Ahh, Flowey. He sure knew how to make the mood interesting.

Sans grumbled and paused in his chewing. Suddenly, he reeled back as if something stung him. Then, slowly a manic laughed bubbled from his ribcage and hissed through his teeth.

"Aahahahassss-ssthatwas a good one Butters! Wood, ha! Leaf it to you to point out the obvious!"

Flowey's beady eyes blinked slowly in horrified realization. He'd technically made a pun. Good to know that Sans retained his awful sense of humor of all things.

"Smiley, you snow-tard! There're are no more leaves on the trees, that pun doesn't count!"

Sans stopped laughing, his eye shrunk into a pinprick. His skull darted around—damn, the flower was right! Not even needles or a scrap of green remained in the dead forest.

Damn the flower and his logic.

Chewing no longer held appeal and Sans slouched down. His claws began to tap with a dull rhythm against the counter. His eye snuffed out and he settled into a nap. The movement of his claws prevented Sans from falling into a deep sleep—doing so was simply dangerous. Being on the alert at all times outside the Ruins was necessary…and trusting Flowey was a dubious investment.

Eventually he got up. He lifted a hand to teleport back inside the Ruins, but thought better of it. He rarely left the place and wanted to get more bang for his buck before using up his magic. Plus, the usage would aggravate the wound…

With mind made up, Sans entered Snowdin. It was easy to find, the place had transformed into a bulky collection of wood piles. Many houses had collapsed, no doubt abandoned and thoroughly raided.

Some houses survived, however. Sans stopped at the first intact structure—the general store oddly enough. The door was hanging by a rusty hinge and all the windows had sprayed glass throughout the place. Sans thanked his lucky stars he was made out of bone. As he walked, the glass shards ate through his slippers like cotton candy. Perhaps there was stuff still to salvage because of the mess? He could hope.

At the back of the store, the mess was less. Clothing lined some shelving, moth-eaten and mildewed. Sans pulled out a leather belt and nibbled the end. He could make a meal out of it…maybe? He recalled eating a pair of shoes once, or maybe that had been a dream. Sans wasn't sure.

He continued chewing on the belt, likening the texture to jerky. He smiled when Flowey made little squeaks of disgust. Sans didn't get far with the belt until something clattered within the store.

Taking stock of his surroundings, he noticed he hadn't caused the clattering.

"Someone's in here." Flowey muttered.

Sans snuffed out his eyelight and delicately placed the belt aside. His jaw tightened cruelly—would meat be on the menu?

His slippers muffled his steps as he creeped closer to the source of the sound. In the darkness, he could make out a lanky bipedal figure—two tall stocks topped the head—a rabbit monster. Perfect eats.

Sans placed his hands behind his back under the hood of his jacket, hiding the glow of his magic.

Discreetly, a thick femur bone was generated. The head of the bone was larger than normal—hammer-like. It was a blunt force weapon.

With glee, the rabbit was struck down in one fluid moment. Sans's expertise allowed the mercy of a quick death. The femur was pulled from the target, sticky and messy. The rabbit's head had been caved in—its brain painted the walls.

Sans waited a few moments for any signs of life and when he saw none his eyelight flickered on.

The body was indeed a rabbit monster.

Its fur was a teal baby blue and Sans was enamored with the color. He carefully ran his claws over, petting it. The blue reminded him much of his jacket, which had long been stained a deep grey from working with dust. It originally had been blue and while the rabbit wasn't the exact shade, Sans needed it!

The femur bone was dismissed and the magic reconfigured into a pair of bone knives. The knives cut the belly of the rabbit starting from the neck. Sans carefully cut around the abdominal cavity and the organs came cleanly into a pile on the floor after a bit of force. The smell of blood urged Sans to finish the job quickly, but he kept a careful pace—he needed the fur. It was perfect.

The skinning was the easiest and by far funniest part. He took his time, wanting to get the best results. At the end the skin was hung up between two empty clothing racks—pulled tight for tanning. Sans collected the brain matter which coated the walls and began rubbing it on the fleshy part of skin. The skin was then dried gently with his magic. Now it was preserved and the fur wouldn't rot out.

Sans turned his attention to the body. Black drool already manifesting to mix with the blood.

He was less precise with his knives as he carved out the rabbit. Leg haunches, ribs, steak of all kinds were placed out and Sans stared a few seconds to admire his work. He took a piece and ate it. The raw meat was tough to chew on his cracked teeth. He sighed, having to cook it.

Sans dug out a hole in the wooden flooring, smashing it in with the femur bone. He collected stray wood pieces and tossed them in. With a spark of magic a bomb fire was created.

It wasn't the safest set up. The rest of the building was wood but the hole was dug deep enough to keep the blaze contained. The real issue was the smoke as it filled the small backroom and the broken windows offered limited aeration. Were Sans a monster with lungs he would have been dead. Flowey was much the same, though a flower was flammable so he stayed well hidden within the skull.

Lacking any kind of dish to cook the meat over Sans merely used a stick from the wreckage. He cooked each piece individually and slowly over the fire. The method took a while but Sans enjoyed himself.

In the blinding wave of smoke and the delightful scent of meat he let himself forget his problems. The smoke awoken the burning sensation in his wound, but it wasn't a worry. He'd just roll around in the snow again.

Sans stuffed himself silly. The meat was largely swallowed whole as he had no worries of choking. When in his mouth, the meat began to disintegrate and was converted into magic by a black void which served as his stomach.

When the fire eventually died down, Flowey grew interested. He meekly peeked out of the skull and investigated nearby blood specks. He licked at a few and frowned—tasting nothing

Flowey grew bolder and pushed a single root out of the skull. The root was dipped into a puddle of blood and only then did he taste it. The flower chuckled, used to only tasting muddy water and the occasional rot.

Sans had stopped eating to watch Flowey, a bit bewildered. Right, flowers needed food too.

Some portions of the meat were left raw and the organs were cleaned to be eaten later. Sans looked around the shop and found a burlap sack in which to store the goods.

The fur was taken down and he briefly admired the pretty blue fur. San's tied it around his neck and stuffed the fur underneath his hoodie.

Ahh, so cozy!


	5. Read-emeption

The chill of Snowdin was welcoming when he stepped out and blood froze onto his bones. Sans looked around for the next location and it was amusingly close. Right next door was the inn. The second story was half collapsed but the entrance was still intact.

Sans went in and approached the counter. He tapped his fingers against the wood and looked ahead at the wall—pretending to ask for a room before storming up the stairs.

The hallway and surviving rooms were a mess. He peeked into a few and it was clear each held a story. One in particular caught his interest.

The room was too clean and well-lived in. The scent of smoky dog biscuits wafted in the air—it was occupied.

Confident and awakened from the rabbit kill, Sans walked into the room with the femur ready.

Sadly, it was empty and he was left with nothing to bludgeon to death.

Around the room was a scattering of toys and small clothing—did children live here?

Sans sighed and rubbed his forehead. He wasn't the type to kill children. Flowey chuckled as he put the pieces together.

The inn was a bust. Save for that one room, nothing was of interest. Just piles and piles of splintery wood and glass.

Sans walked around Snowdin for the next place. He peered into windows of houses, seeing only broken furniture and not a lick of people.

He came across a sad sight. A large pine tree that had always been decorated and tended by the community, had fallen. Its branches had all snapped off and its roots reached out like an emancipated beast. The decorations: ordainments, colorful lights, signs with positive statements, were all strewn about the snow.

Sans bent down examining some and he intensely frowned. He knew intellectually that he should recall more about the tree. Many town announcements and events had been held around it, but no significant memory came to mind.

He had walked by the tree almost daily, but all the days blurred together. All the memories he had of Snowdin were the same-just a blank sheet of white, just like the snow the town was famed for.

He kicked at the ground for a bit, hoping to jog a memory. Sans sighed, knowing his head wasn't right.

The weapon, the femur was summoned. Sans swung at the trunk, splintering it into several sections as he kept up the attack. It may have lasted under a minute or an hour. What's important is that when Sans stepped away, little remained of the tree, much buried as a pulp in the snow.

"Golly Sans, you've got some anger issues."

Sans snorted and pinched his nasal cavity—the headache had gotten worse. Yet he had to admit, the activity had been very therapeutic.

He continued walking, his grin relaxed some. He stopped when he came to the next intact building: Grillby's.

Sans paced back and forth as he debated going in. The place was barely recognizable. All the letters had been ripped away and the entire front had collapsed. One could hardly guess it had once been a restaurant.

Sans grunted, walking past the place. No use digging up useless memories. He'd probably just find a bunch of scattered dust under the rubble. Not worth the trouble.

The next place of interest was the Library—or the "Librarby," as the letters spelled. The windows had collapsed, covered in a cascade of bricks. The wooden door had been replaced by a solid metal one—odd, who had done that? Sans knocked on the door, perhaps someone was inside?

Muffled noise from the inside confirmed yes, yet no one came to the door.

Sans frowned. It wasn't unusual behavior but it wasn't any Sans appreciated. He tried the knob—it was locked.

The femur was once again alight in his hands. Sans twirled it around to a sharpened hilt and smashed it under the handle.

He smashed a slippered foot onto the hammer-end, trying to pop the knob off.

Unfortunately, Sans was all bones, not muscle.

Flowey quacked with laugher as he stood tall from the skull.

"Okay, wow. Talk about incompetence. Let me show you how it's done!"

Flowey waved out a thick vine and grabbed the door knob, twisting it and dug underneath like the femur had. Sans watched fascinated as Flowey tore apart the knob and its metal components cleanly fell from the door.

"There you go Smiley. Now go work your magic~!" Flowey winked, a sadistic smile grew as he slipped back into the skull, expecting a show.

Clang! The door fell and the entrance was a thick maw of darkness.

San snuffed out his eye and pushed inside.

Swish! Rip!

A knife had flown through the air and caught onto San's hoodie. Fortunately, there was no flesh to pierce.

The room was pitch black and Sans didn't see the attacker. He moved to the side just as an onslaught of knives pelted the entrance. A few hit on target, catching again the hoodie.

Sans rumbled and his grin opened to speak, but only a dead laugh tumbled out. It's been a while since he had any sort of challenge!

Fortunately, Sans had recalled that the library had a ridiculously simple layout. It was only a rectangular room. He leaped to the left, smashing into a counter. Clambering over to crouch behind the counter Sans sparked his eye and the glow caught some figures in the distance. He snuffed it out and charged forward, femur raised high.

Twack!

A target was met and a chorus of screams erupted from the darkness. Curious, Sans's eye sparked again. A young cream rabbit was identified in the darkness—a child!

The room at the inn flashed in Sans's mind and the wind was knocked out of his attack. The femur went limp to his side, but he didn't decide when the fight was over.

A kick accompanied by knives smashed into his ribcage from behind. Many blades missed due to having a spine, but the attacker was on point! Once a blow was landed, the attacker sent a barrage of kicks again and again into his ribs. Stupefied, Sans fell forward and the attacker pinned him to the ground. A due of knives stabbed into his neck vertebra.

"Guarahh!" Sans screamed, suddenly aware of the potential for the knives to puncture his skull! He reared up, like a feral bull.

The attacker held on and Sans felt a blade knick the wounded part of his skull.

The pain was instantaneous! The burning returned in a burst of fury!

Sans ran backwards into a wall, slamming the attacker into was sounded like a shelf. The attacker wetly flopped off the wall. Books clattered to the floor and the screaming increased in intensity.

Before the attacker could ready more knives, Sans twisted around to bare down on them. His claws found their shoulders—a bipedal then. Sans raked his claws cruelly down their arms and grasped their hands—no more knives, he would see to that.

Sans headbutted them in the face—now able to make out the figure.

The attacker whimpered and went limp for a few seconds, before kicking upwards again into San's ribcage.

Snap.

A rib or two was dislodged as Sans lost the hold and fell backwards onto his back, again pinned.

Sans anticipated the knives and snarled as his magic generated two bone knives, shooting up just in time to meet the blades of the other—inches from his skull.

The knives illuminated the attacker in a red glow—it was a dog. But who?

Sans's eye flashed on and then he saw.

It was Doggo! The flash would have blinded any other, but not Doggo. The dog was unfazed and a cutting maneuver broke Sans's hold, snapping away the bone blades!

"Doggo."

The utterance saved Sans some grief. The knives froze with blade tips between his sockets.

"Sans."

The dog gazed down, horrifying blades were stuck in his eyes. The scent of blood was thick, no doubt stemming from said affliction.

Sans didn't move to attack. The injury was the strangest he had seen.

A wet lick on his face pulled him from his stupor.

Doggo whined and the wag of his tail was audible.

A cascade of licks continued and Sans shrunk away, baffled.

The fight was over then?

"Heya Doggo…uh, knife to see you…"

Doggo clapped. "Pups, the lights please. We have a friend here."

Sans didn't miss how Doggo emphasized "friend."

He hummed thoughtfully. He had come in uninvited.

Lights went on, but it wasn't electric. A huge candle was placed in the middle of the room, the flame large enough to cast the whole room in a glow.

Sans stared up at the candle, a little impressed by the ingenuity of the thing. Dozens and dozens of candles must have been used in its creation.

Sans rolled over and shakily sat up. He noticed dust particles and pieces of his ribs.

It was then Sans remembered he had lost the fight. His skull swiveled, looking nervously at Doggo who loomed over him. Where it not for Doggo's friendly expression, Sans would have been compelled to attack again.

He kept his gaze to the floor and then the entrance.

Sans wanted to leave, having enough of an adventure; but, he didn't want to stand and run the risk of Doggo being threatened by his movements.

The dog was blind, even prior to the pecular knives that were stuck in his eyes. Blindness was the reason why Doggo likely won the fight. Doggo wasn't at a disadvantage in the darkness, only Sans had been by snuffing out his eye for the sake of stealth.

Blindess must have been why the dog was still alive after so long…the Underground had largely transformed into a dark world…

Eventually Sans gaze turned to the children. He counted five all huddled underneath a wooden table, fearfully regarding him. Reasonable reactions, as he spied the young cream rabbit clutching an arm and his tiny face held a hateful glare.

Sans tapped his claws rhythmically on the flooring—carpet, so the noise wasn't as distracting as he would've liked.

Doggo moved forward, taking command of the situation. He sniffed the air and approached the children.

His tail wagged as he motioned the cream rabbit over. Reasonably, the child was reluctant and his gaze never left Sans as he moved.

Ha, smart kid.

Doggo pulled out a long-shredded cloth from a pocket and wrapped it around the child's arm. Neither made a sound as the wound was bandaged. The other children seemed unfazed as well—injuries must have been common among this little group.

"Now pups, say hello to Sans."

None complied as Sans received only fearful little faces.

Right, well he'd have to start things off.

"Heya…sorry…for barging in unannounced."

Sans scratched his skull nervously, thinking up a good explanation.

"I uh, ended up checking in to the Snowdin inn…and noticed you all seemed to have a room there." Sans shrugged, "I figured…I'd try to find you guys, drop by and say hi."

Admitting that he had barged in with the intention of skinning them all would not have gone over well, at all.

"Liar!"

Sans eye glowed menacingly as he locked onto the voice: the cream rabbit.

"The inn is mine! You stay out of there!"

Sans wheezed, not expecting such an adorably blunt response. The kid had guts, he'll give that.

Though what did he mean the inn was his? The inn had been owned by rabbits—his family?

That made sense, then.

Smack.

Doggo growled and had smacked the child upside the head.

"Bunbun, no! No be rude!"

"Hrmph, yes sir."

"Puppies please. Give names."

He saw in the corner of his eye, Doggo wander away collecting his thrown knives. Sans hummed, amused as he pried several knives from his hoodie.

He crawled over to the wooden table, still not comfortable with standing. The knives were placed on top and Sans looked down at the children hidden underneath: a bear cub and three white floppy-eared puppies—an adorable bunch.

He couldn't skin these guys now that he got a good look at them. Sans had standards, damnit.

The cream bunny, Bunbun, sat himself at the table. He leaned in near Sans, brows arched suspiciously. "You have blood on your face." It was a statement, but also an accusation.

Sans shrugged, remaining calm, but he was internally screaming.

Had that blue rabbit from the shop been a part of this group?

It was likely!

"Oh, does that mean you have food!?"

The bear cub had crawled from under the table, his eyes wide at the idea of a meal.

Whatever passed for a heart in Sans melted by the hopeful expression of the cub.

Remembering the bag of meat left outside he stood up. He couldn't eat it all himself, anyway.

Outside he saw Doggo inspecting said bag of meat. Sans froze.

Oh dear, what if Doggo recognized the smell? What if he knew the rabbit?

Pressure built up in his ribcage. Magic flared in his claws—prepared to attack at the slightest hint of aggression.

Fortunately, Doggo simply wagged his tail, snout deep in the goods. That was a good sign.

"Sans, you have meat!"

"Yeah…I uh…would be happy to share." Sans sheepishly rubbed his skull, phew.

Doggo barreled into Sans, agitating his already battered ribcage.

Sans almost threw a bone attack until he realized Doggo was just rapidly licking his face.

Quickly, he pushed Doggo off. Not at all appreciating the sticky and moist affection.

Sans wiped his face on his sleeves and he hid a blush-flustered. He was pretty sure Doggo didn't realize, but when the dog was licking him the tongue ran over his teeth a lot—the skeleton equivalent of a kiss.

Oh boy.

Doggo had brought the bag of meat inside!

It took every ounce of will for Sans to calmly pry the bag from him.

The dog whined and started at his paws, baffled at the disappearance of the bag.

Sans went behind the counter and discreetly inspected the contents. He'd killed a rabbit and there was a rabbit child needing to be fed, so Sans would take care to exclude any rabbitty-aspects from the meal.

He bet that Bunbun kid will cannibalieve its rabbit!

Sans wheezed painfully as he kept his laugher in check.

He didn't want to freak the kids out beyond repair.

On the counter he set out rib racks and large cuts of meat.

What was left in the bag was mainly guts, but some good bits remained.

To his surprise, Doggo placed utensils, plates, and a huge grilling rack onto the counter.

"Where…did you get all this Doggo?"

"Grillby's."

Sans felt like he'd been punched. Damn, he didn't like hearing that name. It was too cruel to remember those burgers…and fries.

Doggo seemed to catch on and patted Sans's shoulder. The dog missed Grillby just as well.

Both had been avid regulars.

The meat was placed on the rack, which was then placed on the candle.

It was an awkward set up, with the wick being carefully pushed to the side and the meat was carefully monitored for any stray wax.

When done the plates were handed out and everyone sat at the table. It was strange, sitting with monsters and sharing a meal.

Sans habitually tapped his fingers. He had to have been dreaming. It's been so long since he hadn't been alone.

Flowey didn't count. That dude was a little weirdo.

After the meal, everything relaxed.

Sans was free to walk around without risking Doggo popping a knife in his skull.

The bear cub and the three puppies all regarded Sans excitedly.

Even Bunbun, the kid that been giving him the stink-eye, had warmed up considerably.

Of course, if Bunbun had just found out what he'd eaten…well, Sans wouldn't let that happen.

"Thanks so much, Sans! It was delicious!" The bear cub had run up and hugged Sans's legs. Again, his equivalent of a heart melted and he ruffled the cub's fur.

The puppies followed suit, playfully biting his ankles and chewing on his slippers.

"Sans, can you read?" The cub gestured wildly to the bookcase and he looked up at Sans, it was a serious question.

"Well, sure I can kiddo. In fact, most adults should be able to."

A puppy tugged on his hoodie.

"Can…can you read to us them?" It began making begging eyes, until it was pushed aside by a sibling.

"Not all adults can! Doggo can't!"

"No Doggo can! It just he reads the same one—"

Doggo came up and shooed the children away.

"No bother Mister Sans. He was nice to give meat. No demand things."

Did he detect a hint of jealousy in Doggo?

The downcast expressions of the children sent Sans's heart to a boil.

Sans would be happy to read!

"Oh no…Doggo you've got it wrong. I'm all about reademing myself!"

The silence that usually accompanied a pun went on a few seconds longer. Did the kids not know that word? Yikes, they really needed to be read to then!

"No need." Bunbun walked up. "What's wrong with you guys? I read to you all the time!"

Bunbun was obviously offended by the idea. Now that Sans got a good look at him, he suspected the kid was twice the age of the others—on the cusp of being a teenager actually.

The puppies stopped wagging their tails and seemed to give up on the idea.

However, the cub seemed set on it.

"Bunbun, there is a book you can't read!"

The cub waved a book in front of Sans, before he took it. It was surprising, an astronomy book!

"It's a book about stars!" The cub hopped around excitedly. Sans sniggered, okay he was sold

The cub was infectious. Bunbun grew interested and even Doggo swiveled around his ears in anticipation.

Sans sat down cross-legged on the floor so he could be more eyelevel with the children.

He opened the book and scanned the contents, a bit baffled on where to start. The cub had been right, only Sans would have been able to read this book. Pages and pages of complex calculations marred the pages. There was hardly a story to be found and Sans didn't recall enough to confidently translate the calculations in layman's terms.

He sighed, settling on simply recounting info about stars and the surface in general. It seemed to be what the group was after.

"Does anyone know what the sun is?"  
No hands went up, though after a moment Bunbun raised his.

"Oh the sun…it's a ball of fire magic that lives in the sky—on the surface!"

All the other children chattered in amazement.

"Wait, fire magic is on the surface—in the sky?"

Sans scratched his skull.

"The sun isn't exactly fire magic." Sans gestured to the giant candle lighting the room.

"It's like this candle here. It doesn't need magic, it just is."

Sans would have loved to talk about the chemical components of non-magical light sources, but he looked over the children—already he may have amazed them too much—their faces looked exhausted and Sans too felt a weary fatigued bare down on him.

"I thought this book was about the stars?" Bunbun chimed in with arms crossed. He didn't look happy, a little smug actually.

Sans could fix that.

"Well, Bunbun—" Sans paused, eye lingering on the rabbit. "—the sun is actually a star!"

The puppies went crazy at the revelation. To Sans's surprise and discomfort, the litter grew bold enough to clamor onto his lap.

He looked over to Doggo to try to signal for help, before he remembered the dog was blind. Sans grinded his teeth at the rampant affection and he fought to keep himself calm. Pushing the puppies off was appealing, but he wasn't about to do something so…rude.

Sans turned his attention back to the book. The puppies licked at his claws, possibly attracted by left over smears of blood. His claws curled and gently began petting the puppies via the knuckle bones. The petting had a calming effect on both parties. The puppies ceased licking and plopped down into little balls of fluff.

Sans scanned the book for usable content and found himself flipping through the pages, genuinely enjoying the reading…

When he looked up with the intent to educate Sans's grin fell. The puppies had all fallen asleep in his lap and the bear cub was passed out on the carpet. Bunbun was in a corner looking away, but sudden twitches of his ears told he wasn't yet asleep.

Doggo was seated on a chair looking in Sans's direction.

Sans carefully maneuvered himself from the puppies and could help but to pet them a few more times.

He was fascinated with them, too much so. Sans was reminded of the fur atop his skull—Greater Dog it had been once. Petting a dead fur was nothing over puppies!

Their warm fur and bloodstain little muzzles Sans would treasure.


	6. A Knightmarish Start

The book was put away and Sans stood up. He fetched his bag of meat and turned his attention to the entrance. Doggo seemed to sense his intentions and got up, facing Sans.

Magic charged in his claws, threatened by the sudden invasion of space. Doggo twitched his ears and held up his paw complacently.

"Sans, don't leave yet. Please, please."

Sans huffed.

Why not?

"Come, come to Grillby's with me. Things to tell."

Oh, was that all? Frankly, Sans wanted nothing to do with Grillby's and he almost lunged at Doggo to refuse—but his eye caught sight of the knives stuck deep into Doggo's eyes and he couldn't look away.

Sans had questions of his own. He would go.

"Alright…let's book it.

Getting into Grillby's was a bit tricky. The entire front entrance had collapsed so Sans and Doggo entered through the backdoor. They came to the kitchen and San's saw evidence of Doggo's earlier looting. He grumbled, it also meant any potential food was gone. Doggo went out into the dining room though San's attention was directed on a staircase he'd never seen before.

Grillby had lived in the restaurant so it stood to reason it had been his quarters. Sans inspected the steps and a thick layer of dust—the normal stuff—coated the wood.

No one had been up for a while...

Doggo poked his snout in.

"Where you go Sans?"

"I'm going up…be right back."

"Ok, will wait."

Sans tossed his bag of meat to Doggo, who keenly caught it.

"Help yourself…I might be a while."

Sans scanned the room. A bed made out of literal coal was in the corner.

Ahh, Grillby had been a fire elemental so it made sense.

Sans picked up a handful of coal and sniffed it. The smell was painfully familiar. It was the signature smell of the restaurant, perhaps Grillby himself, and Sans shook his skull morosely.

Suddenly, he was back at the bar counter, chugging ketchup and cracking jokes to his delight. The guard dogs had been friends then and they never failed to invite Sans to a game of cards.

He preferred not to risk finding out how much he owed Grillby. At worst he would feel a twinge of guilt and he was too tired for that nonsense. Drunk Bun and Big Mouth always appreciated his puns and would always ask for encores. Ugly Fish and Red Bird always joined him at the bar, playing accomplices to his schemes and pranks concerning other patrons…

…and Grillby, despite being living fire, had always been the coolest dude in the room. The bartender could be trusted with secrets and was always polite…even when Sans neglected to pay his tab…

Sans rubbed his forehead, the memories were all too real. He never did get around to paying Grillby back…

No need to think about that.

Snap!

Flowey seemed to have grown some as he stretched outwards and additional vines hugged the sides of the skull. He twisted downwards to peer into Sans's eye.

"Smiley, what's the hold up? You've been staring awfully long at that coal there—you plan on eating that too, huh? Just like that rabbit?" Flowey's expression darkened and a hissing laugh slipped from his disk floret. "It was mighty funny seeing you turn that sweet little Bunbun into an unwitting cannibal!" The flower laughed freely now.

"Haha, I bet you fed him his own family—or at least a long-lost relative! Tsk tsk, I thought you better than that Smiley!"  
Flowey looked intensely at the eye, anticipating a response. Sans didn't seem fazed, however.

His eye looked past Flowey, still interested in the coals. Flowey noticed and his petals wilted in anger. A whip of a vine sent the coals scattering and a black cloud of dust settled over the room. Sans crushed the coals in his claws and he again stared at his now soot-covered hand, before reluctantly pulling away from the memories.

"What's wrong?" Flowey goaded. "Feeling guilty, a bit? Wanna talk about it, friend?"

Sans remained silent, only his eye moved to inspect the room. His attention was brought to a metal desk, shiny steel now covered in soot.

He found rows of paper all categorized neatly inside the drawers. Thumbing through Sans spotted a familiar word—tabs.

Picking up the section of papers, he looked though. Each paper had a name of a monster and the corresponding amount of gold owed. A page for Sans was no doubt in the pile.

A part of him wanted to know how much he owed, perhaps as a means of paying respect to Grillby. The other, large part of himself smacked the papers down to the floor. It was info he was better off not knowing.

Flowey hummed in feigned interest.

The remaining drawers were opened, but only offered more papers.

Useless!

Sans huffed, a little angry. His claws hooked to the sides of the desk and pushed it over, filling the room with a mess of papers as drawers flew open.

He turned to leave the room, the place now trashed, but Flowey had anchored a vine into the wall.

The flower was intently staring at something off to the side.

When Sans saw what it was, he hummed in approval.

On a wall hung an elaborate suit of armor, a shining gold despite the soot.

"Hee hee hee. Say, is this what that Grill-fellow used all that gold for?" A thorny vine had stabbed through some papers and Flowey waved them in front of Sans.

Sans grumbled and smacked the vine away.

"No way, bud."

Screeeeeee.

Claws ran over the surface of the armor-it had been well maintained.

"Grillbz…was a veteran of the surface war..."

"Really?" The flower seemed genuinely surprised. His beady eyes looked at the armor with renewed curiosity.

"Yep…I'd forgotten that. Strange how Grillbz just…left it." Sans liked to think Grillby was still running around the Underground. Maybe he opened up a new place—likely in Hotland-with dust patties for burgs and twigs for fries—delicious!

"You should try it on!" Flowey had exclaimed the idea with such excitement that Sans couldn't help but consider it.

Sans rolled his skull around, thinking, before finally ripping the armor down.

Flowey cackled eagerly. Grillby had been tall and thin while Sans was small and stout. Wiggling his way into the cuirass was easy—though keeping it on was another matter entirely.

Sans could hardly stand with just the cuirass—it was large enough to be a metal dress if he dared walk around with it.

He went to pull it off but vines held it firmly in place. Sans, a bit alarmed, glared at Flowey.

"It doesn't fit—" He growled. "I'm taking it off!"

"No no no. Just…wait a moment!"

Sans wasn't sure what the flower was getting at. More vines had wrapped around the cuirass and pulled Sans up into the air. He snarled and his eye flared. Was Flowey trying to trap him or something?!

The vines didn't move to harm Sans, however. The bottom portion of the armor: a tasset belt and greaves were moved under the cuirass and instantly a transformation began.

The armor pieces began to glow a tint of orange and shifted into place. Boots were attached to the greaves and then Flowey placed Sans down.

Surprisingly, though Sans's feet only reached to the kneepads of the greaves the armor stood on the ground on its own. The orange glow still shown on the armor—an obvious enchantment.

Before Sans could take a testy step forward, the cuirass shifted and morphed. The metal shrunk and pressed close to his ribcage.

Sans struggled, trying to wiggle out but Flowey placed a gorget over his neck and he was trapped!

He was sure the armor would malfunction and would crush his frail bones.

Sans almost teleported with the Ruins in mind, but no pain overcame him.

"Hrm, interesting." Flowey held up more armor pieces. Sans didn't protest as pauldrons and gauntlets were slipped on. Things had gotten too interesting to simply take the armor off now.

"Oh wow…" Sans moved the legs forward with a grunt of effort. The feel of metal on his bones was cold and jarring. Instinct told Sans to get away from the armor and that the orange magic held a hidden danger.

He was trapped in the armor, however. The cuirass seemed to melt to his ribs and his dangling legs were overpowered by a hidden will of the greaves.

Flowey was watching Sans's growing distress with a nasty little smile and his petals were perky—healthy in delight as his beady eyes held an uncanny childish awe.

"Hee hee hee. Smiley, you look ridiculous!"

"All thanks to your taste in fashion, bud."

Sans moved the gauntlets to try to sever the vines Flowey had conjured, but to his surprise Flowey retracted them willingly.

The last piece of armor, the helmet—was the most impressive. Two combs flanked the top, curving out of the back like small horns. The helm had a flat front visor like a furnace—fitting considering the original occupant.

Behind the helmet, a series of holes were patterned ornately around. A discoloration of the area told Sans that Grillby's flames must have breathed through them.

The vines returned and Flowey twisted inside the helm. It was maneuvered onto Sans's skull, laying nicely against Greater Dog's fur. He felt Flowey retreat into his skull, peering out of a socket to gauge Sans's reaction.

It was a good thing Flowey returned to the skull when he did, as only a few seconds later the armor enchantment went berserk!

The orange magic moved to engulf San's bones and he started to glow like a hot coal! The magic seemed to possess a mind as it creeped around the room. It was drawn to the papers and coal that littered the floor. The magic coughed a spark and the mess grew into a cascade of flames!

SWOOOSH!

In hindsight, scattering coal and paper everywhere might not have been the best of ideas. Especially in a house that once belonged to a flame elemental.

"…" Sans found himself shocked to silence. Flowey too, apparently.

Easily the fire spread to any flammable articles. Clothes, furniture, books—practically everything was up for grabs!

Oddly, Sans felt compelled to do nothing, despite the fire. The helmet visor had fallen and limited his vision. The suit of armor was like sitting in a particularly uncomfortable metal chair in a room without air-conditioning.

As unpleasant as the situation was, Sans wasn't in pain from the magic and so he kept a leveled head.

He moved the legs forward. It was easier than it had been without the helmet. The enchantment must have stabilized then.

He tumbled down the stairs, which burst into flames when the armor touched them.

Sans dizzily looked around and he spotted the back entrance.

It was then he remembered—Doggo!

Dog. Gone. It!

A shame it was, that Doggo was blind. Sans made quite the dramatic entrance into the dining room. The armor had turned into a statue of flames!

"Ahcroo! Fire! Fire!" Doggo stood to attention quickly. He cowered as flames licked at his fur.

The bar counter and wooden furniture were easy prey to the fire. Doggo ran to the front entrance, only to find it was blocked by the rubble.

Right, there was only one way out!

Sans grabbed at Doggo, careful to catch only his clothing.

"Doggo, I'm gonna drag you out…okay?!"

"Ahcroooooooo!"

Already the flames were eating at Doggo! Sans ran out the backdoor and in that moment an explosion racked the kitchen!

A spray of glass, brick, and metal spewed from the building as it collapsed entirely. Perhaps a nasty cohesion of oil had sparked the explosion. The kitchen had specialized in greasy food back in the day.

It didn't matter any. When Sans looked back, Grillby's had already began growning into a black husk.

Magical fire was always the deadliest. It tended to ignore conventional rules of energy exchange and it danced along the snow, not so easily thwarted.

Regardless, the snow of Snowdin was a nurturing mercy as Doggo rolled around, soothing his burns. Had he remained burning a few seconds longer, the injuries may have dusted him.

Amusingly, as Sans had saved Doggo, Doggo himself had saved San's bag of meat.

His paws clutched the bag like a lifeline, food was the most important commodity after all.

The clothing which San's had dragged Doggo by were hanging on by threads and colored a flaking black. A nasty patch of fur had been burnt off on Doggo's back and his tail smoldered—the tip bare.

Sans didn't dare to touch or approach Doggo. The orange magic still radiated off the armor and Sans couldn't seem to find an off switch. For all he knew, just touching the dog would set him on fire!

The snow underneath had melted into a puddle, which was slowly drawing up into a boil.

It was Doggo that approached Sans, holding out the bag.

Sans chuckled, sadly. Doggo was a loyal and honorable dog to return such valued goods.

"Oh…no! Doggo…keep it!"

Doggo wagged his tail slowly, happy; but, the burns in his fur thwarted any energetic celebration.

"Many thanks. The puppies will use."

Doggo turned away, in the direction of the library—then he stopped, ears turned in Sans's direction.

"Sans, fire how?" Doggo's tail went between his legs. "Sans do? The fire!" Confusion was plain on Doggo's face, his tongue lolled out as he tried to piece the disaster together.

Sans sighed, moving a gauntlet to wipe his brow, only to have it clash awkwardly against the helmet.

"Urh…kinda…s-some weird stuff happened. Upstairs!" Doggo nodded. "Up there I found armor owed by Grillby…and uh…"

"You put on?"

"Yeeeaaah…"

Doggo's muzzle crumpled in disgust and his ears swiveled in disbelief.

"Sans! Awful, no! That disrespectful."

Sans growled, all too aware.

"Yep…you know how the saying goes: Curiosity killed the cat…or well, almost the dog in this case."

Doggo stiffened, a bit offended. The joke fell flat.

Sans rolled his eye and redirected his attention at the burning Grillby's.

The sight itself could have been a macabre tribute to the bartender himself, the flames matching his likeness.

Though Sans was all too aware he owed Grillby more than ever, now. He'd run up a tab, stolen his armor, and burned the guy's house down. Oops.

Sans no longer hope Grillby was alive, explaining the situation would no doubt be mighty awkward.

When Sans looked back, Doggo was gone, leaving an eerie trail of burnt fur in the snow. He likely returned to the library where the children were.

Sans's nonextant guts coiled. Sure, Sans had grown a little crazy over the years but he wasn't stupid.

He couldn't face the children with deadly magical armor he couldn't control. Nor would they be happy to see him after harming Doggo…

Shame, the reading had been fun, however brief.

Sans began walking back to the Ruins, before pausing. Returning home wouldn't end well. The old lady's house was very flammable…

Sans's eye snuffed out and his teeth cracked as anger held his bones.

"Flowey!" He stomped and snow melted as a blast of fire burst from the boot.

"Stupid weed!" Rare was it that Sans got angry. Usually he felt nothing at all.

Sans knocked at his skull and shook it around.

The flower writhed in displeasure. A vine dared to stretch out, despite the magic on the armor. It coiled in anger and a voice wailed out.

"O-oh sure! Blame l-little ol' me! You're the one who ripped the armor out of the wall—you agreed!"

Flowey seemed like he wanted to say more, but a flame licked at the vine and with a yelp it was retracted.

That was the end of it then.

Sans turned around, walking to Grillby's again. The flames were brilliant in the pitch black Snowdin. Snow melted and the dead foliaged burned. The fire spread to other buildings lighting up the Underground in an eerie show.

First, Sans fell to his knees-then flopped backwards.

His magic burned in his sockets, condensing into sweat, and…tears? One couldn't really know.

The heat and intensity of the orange magic evaporated any potential in Sans to cry.

The snow was his blanket as Sans lulled to sleep.


	7. Nice Neighbors

Bunbun looked down at Sans with contempt. His delicate muzzle flushed with anger. The smoking disaster that had been Grillby's amplified Bunbun's motivations. A baseball bat was clutched in his trembling paws.

Carefully he crept closer to Sans, mindful of the muddy puddle and smoking armor that surrounded Sans. With a foot, he bravely lifted the helmet visor, revealing San's cracked grin.

A face so cold was rarely seen on the rabbit species and Bunbun steeled himself, raising the bat.

Twack!

Bunbun was only able to get one hit in before Sans snapped awake. A fresh crack marred his skull as it swiveled to set on Bunbun and the red eye flared, hungry for the rabbit's soul.

Bunbun booked it, running on all fours as instinct kicked into overdrive.

Sans was right behind, a strike with a gauntlet grazed the child's back and Bunbun was sent bouncing forward.

Fortunately, he recovered quickly, rolling with the gained momentum. He leaped to his feet just as an armored boot crashed besides him!

A bubbling mud puddle was created as Sans's shuffled forward and fire again accented the armor.

Bunbun twisted in an erratic running pattern and ran to the east of Snowdin.

Sans snarled. The armor did him no favors in the chase!

Since the armor was larger than himself he wasn't yet confident in how to move.

The armored legs felt like walking on stilts and the longer strides with each step were simply disorientating.

The heavy gauntlets made lifting his arms a great deal harder and his swings were slow—imprecise.

Bunbun seemed to notice Sans's trouble as he dared to linger—flashing a smirk before disappearing from view.

Sans caught up to the spot and his bones burned, literally as smoke wafted off him.

He never lost his prey!

His eye scanned the landscape like mad and black drool dribbled into the snow—teeth cracking as he chewed in frustration.

That kid was going to pay!

At first Sans thought things were a dream—induced by hunger or madness—likely both.

Or even by the fire, but as his teeth clattered—tasting fresh soot, he knew he was awake.

The telltale scent of marrow and the accompanying pain also served as evidence.

"Hee! Hee! Hee!"

The laugher of Flowey reverberated throughout San's skull. The noise was keenly annoying and Sans shook his skull to retain focus. He attempted to wipe his brow, but only succeeded in smacking himself with the gauntlet.

Instantly, the forgotten pain of the earlier wound came crashing back and Sans fell to his knees, vision spinning.

"Hee! Hee! Hee!"

Sans stumbled forward, his eye still scanning for any sign of the rabbit. His bones quaked with bloodlust and he blindly charged forward, down the Snowdin path.

The pursuit was short lived, however.

Sans stumbled again, falling backward as he suddenly reeled in shock!

No.

The eye died as it settled on San's old house. It still stood, largely untouched.

Sans cautiously approached the door, wishing he truly was in a dream.

His first inclination was to touch the knob, to open the door— perfectly reasonable.

Except, the heavy presence of the gauntlet stayed his hand.

Fear flickered in his eye as he stared at the armor. The orange glow of magic still present.

"Aurgh!"

Sans balked and backpaddled. He could already envision the house in flames from a touch alone! He couldn't do let that happen! Papyrus, his brother, was in there!

"Come on Smiley! Open the door!...Maybe that rabbit is hiding inside, eh?"

Just the thought of that rabbit, choked up Sans with anger!

Sure, he'd been woken up rudely several times in his life. A snowball to the face, the licks of a dog, and even a screeching megaphone, were all expected occasions—but a baseball bat certainly crossed the line!

Sans couldn't wait to teach that Bunbun brat a lesson!

The shock of his house had left and Sans pushed past it.

He found the pawprints of the rabbit, and eagerly followed, his eye gleefully wide.

His eye died when he reached the end, however. It was almost a cruel joke.

Sans was a bit shocked by what he saw. The path he was on lead from Snowdin to Waterfall, but the entrance between the regions seemed to have caved in.

There had been a massive rockslide.

He had no memory of the incident—he must have not been around then.

The rockslide looked old, as a sea of fungus grew among the rubble.

Sans scratched at his sockets, a bit peeved. Getting around to the other regions would take longer than.

Frustrated, he punched a gauntlet into the rubble. The rocks sparked from the impact. Sans smiled, feeling powerful. He punched into the rocks again, deriving a childish pleasure from the flying sparks.

Sans curiosity flexed the gauntlet, curious how powerful he could be.

With rare mirth, Sans shuffled backwards and then ran forward, putting everything he had into the hit!

Shoooom!

Crick. Crack.

Several rocks scattered into pieces—gravel now.

The attack left Sans winded and his skull rested against a boulder, staring at the melting snow between his legs—slightly dumbfounded.

"Hee! Hee! Haa!"

Oh yeah, the flower.

Smack.

"Wha…t?"

A vine had slapped Sans across his skull.

"Idiot, idiot, idiot!" Flowey popped out, sneering. "The rabbit went that way!"

The vine pointed towards pawprints, leading into the Snowdin river.

"Rab…rabbit?"

Oh right! He had been hunting, wasn't he?

Ahh, honestly Sans had forgotten about the rabbit—Bunbun, right?

He stretched up, bending backwards to pop his spine. No harm in continuing.

The pawprints actually didn't end at the river, but started again at the other side.

The child had crossed then—but how? Surely, Bunbun hadn't leaped? Rabbits were good jumpers…perhaps…though when a thick block of ice floated down the river, Sans put plausible pieces together.

The rabbit must have used the ice to make it across.

So, Sans would do the same. He stepped back, then charged forward.

Brring-shinck!

Sans belly flopped onto a floating ice cube, half pulverizing it as the armor crashed into it.

The wound on his face grew agitated and Sans groaned, well out of patience.

His vision grew more dizzy from the pain, but Sans had little time to collect himself as the ice began melting.

The orange magic had grown intense and Sans jumped, barely scrambling to the other side as the ice cube disappeared in a hungry fire.

Sans landed face-first into the snowbank. Almost instantly, the refreshing snow was reduced to hot mud.

His wound had reopened and whimpered as the pain fully registered. It felt like his face had fallen off and splintered.

It very well could have—Sans never had dense bones, though his body had since grown larger ever since his magic went feral.

Sans lifted his head and felt marrow flow down his face, hot like melting-wax. Marrow dripped into his nasal cavity and between his teeth. The sensation was like drowning and Sans sputtered, his vision going dark.

Sans placed his face back into the mud, felling bone fragments press back into there proper places. It was extremely painful, but Sans rumbled in satisfaction.

He decided to take a power-nap, in hopes of the marrow solidifying. Gauntlets reached up and grabbed handfuls of snow, packing it around the muddy hole his face had made.

The snow melted, though stayed cold enough to numb his face.

Eventually he felt well enough to stand up, his vision returned.

Unfortunately, all his bones were coated in dried blood—right, the orange magic…

Perhaps if he had skin, the mud would have been refreshing, or a cleansing, healthy thing to do. Shame.

A vine snaked out from the helm.

"Sans, you moron! He's gone now!"

The vine trembled in anger, pointing to a small print in the snow. It was inches from his mud-imprint in the snow bank—a miracle it hadn't melted.

Crack, crack, crack.

Sans clenched his jaw and his teeth trembled. Black drool dribbled out as he imagined the rabbit. When he caught up, he'd stomp off the head and suck out its blood from the severed neck!

Though of course, the impromptu nap allowed the rabbit's escape and Sans only realized when he tried to follow the trial. The marrow and mud coating his face robbed him of his sense of smell—it too had been enhanced by the feral magic.

He was in a dead forest that was north-east of Snowdin. One would think the lack of foliage would make tracks easier to see, but he found none. Sans looked up at the trees, suspecting the rabbit was hidden on the topmost branches.

Eventually, he came to the end of the forest, entering back into Snowdin. He was in the North, the outskirts of the town and it served as the only path to the other regions.

A few intact houses were found, due to being away from the connecting neighborhoods. He came to an empty clearing, covered in pristine white snow.

Sans hummed sadly. He wanted nothing more than to roll around in the snow. His bones were hot and dirty.

He pulled at a gauntlet in hopes of it coming off, but it didn't work—the connection was tight…from the magical enchantment…

Would he ever get the armor off?

Sans shook his skull and pulled the idea that he would be trapped in the armor forever from his mind. He just needed to find help is all. But who? Where?

Hotland.

In Hotland, fire-based enchantments and monsters were abundant. His only chance of finding help was there.

Hotland was the deepest and most remote region within the Underground, but Sans had no choice. The armor bound to turn into a torturous mechanism the longer he wore it. He imagined his bones slowly melting into a delicious broth if he failed…hrm, yummy.

Sans walked out of Snowdin via a north pathway. It was a dead end, coming to a river.

He stared dumbly at the water. There was no other side to the river and there was only a grey cavernous wall, so Sans couldn't jump across like he had before.

He peered down the river seeing if there was another side his missed, but nope. Only traveling the river itself would do.

Sans sat down, pondering what to do. He looked at the surrounding dead trees and thought of making a raft…but the orange magic humming with fire put the idea to rest.

He grew more anxious the longer he looked at the water.

He was trapped! Trapped in Snowdin, trapped in his armor!

He couldn't go home!

"Rahhhhhh!"

Sans screamed and a rumbling echo rippled throughout the place.

When he was done, he bowed his head—falling asleep, as he had nothing else to do.

Tra la la.

Tra la la.

Tra laaaaa laaaaa.

Sans was startled awake and scrambled to stand up. The gauntlets were raised, posed to attack.

In front of him was none other than River Person.

Sans was gob smacked. He had forgotten entirely that the fellow existed, but now that he saw them again, his instincts flared with warm intentions—this monster had been a friend.

He grumbled softly and River Person twisted their hood to look his way. Inside the hood he could see nothing but an expansive black.

His bones prickled at the facets, the River Person was a scary creature!

Yes, his memories spoke of the monster being a friend, but ever since the Underground grew dust-hungry…did the River Person remain one?

The two stared at each other, possibly mimicking the other's thoughts.

River Person then leaned in and its voice was nary a whisper.

"Tra la la."

Sans bobbed his head in recognition. The eerie little melody remained the same.

"Tra la la…Tra la la…Tra la la…Tra la la…Tra la la."

The sound would have grown annoying had the speaker an annoying or loud voice, yet the River Person's singing was just perfect. It blended in harmony with the current of the river and the echoes of the caverns.

"Tra la la…Tra la la…Tra la la…Tra la la…Tra la la."

Sans felt himself relax as he listened and a genuine smile spread on his grin. He didn't feel so trapped anymore.

"…la la…"

Sadly, the little concert had an end. Sans stood up straight when he noticed the River Person eyeing him. Bobbing up and down to see his full person.

The hood crunched inward and its robed twisted more tightly around.

The River Person didn't look happy, to see Sans specifically.

"You cannot join me on my boat." They said plainly.

Sans flinched as if he had been hit. Such a simple statement had caused him so much pain!

"W-why…?" He choked out.

Suddenly the boat beneath the River Person burst into life. Its long wooden bow splintered into the neck of a creature, a carved face akin to a weasel—it was familiar-from where?

So mesmerized by the transformation, Sans did nothing as the boat craned its neck towards him.

It opened its wooden maul, a shiny sap glimmered on the inside.

"Screeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"

The boat screamed. More intense and longer than Sans had initially. The caverns and the dead forest briefly groaned to life.

His ribcage turned inward and Sans felt trapped again, the smile that had grown dropped again.

River Person rubbed affectionately the head of the boat, waving its robe back and forth apologetically.

"The boat fears…"

The River Person stretched out a long white claw directly at Sans.

"…the armor." The whispery voice grew raspy, unwelcoming.

"No." Sans flopped down onto the ground, beyond disappointed.

"I heard the scream, the pain—so I came."

"No."

"I will come again if you scream again."

"No..noted. Yes."

"I'm sorry fellow dead one."

Then with a flourish of its robe, the boat and the River Person retreated backwards down the river, the current easily washing it away.

Briefly, Sans considered making his way forcefully onto the boat. He easily could if he leaped and clawed his way abroad.

Though Sans was crazy, not stupid. River Person was a very important monster—he wouldn't risk angering them…and he did enjoy the concert, as brief as it was.

"Ahhahahahaha, by Asgore's fluff! How stupid have you grown Sans?"

Flower peeked outward, staring at Sans's eye.

"Getting your hopes up like that!" The flower grew fangs as it peered closer to the eye.

"Pathetic!" The flower had since grown leaves and the vines shown more numerous red thorns. A particularly thick vine tapped the inside of the helmet.

Clack, clack, clack.

Sans rumbled in irritation. Any relaxation the River Person gave was gone.

"Bud…shut up."

The eye snuffed out and Flowey flinched away from the spot. The vine retracted and all was quiet again.

What a relief.


	8. Icey Fur-ociousness

Sans came back to the Snowdin north clearing. He looked again to the remaining houses.

He wanted to investigate what was inside, but the houses were made of wood…the armor…

Sans grinded his teeth in frustration and hissed as he held in more screams.

Still, he refused to believe he would be trapped forever. He would bide his patience.

He was optimistic.

Returning to the river he had crossed, he saw something peculiar, and very familiar.

He hadn't noticed before due to wandering the forest, but there was a wooden station—a dock like area connected to the river, fenced off.

From the wooden station, ice blocks were generated and thrown into the river via a moving conveyer belt.

The little system seemed untouched by time and looked to be producing at the original rate.

Sans couldn't help but again be shocked by a barrage of memories.

The ice cubes…

The ice served to cool down the Core's nuclear reactor! But why were cubes still being thrown? The Core had been turned off years ago!

A chill settled down his spine.

Nobody had turned the thing back on! Right?

Sans cowered at the mere idea. Again, he was crazy but not stupid.

The Core required a constant stream of magic to remain stable, else…it would explode!

Poof, everything would be gone!

The entire Underground would be bathed in fire and everything would be reduced to dust!

It would be the final doomsday…

Sans chuckled and tapped the gauntlets against the chest plate. Perhaps the armor was a blessing in disguise…

The fire enchantment on the armor may deflect the fire from the pending explosion.

Fighting fire with fire so to speak.

The enchantment was plenty strong enough after all…

Regardless, the idea returned some of his sanity. He needed to find upsides if he was going to keep it together.

Sans rattled his bones, bringing himself back into the present situation.

He needed answers and so he approached the wooden station. He had grown very conscious of the orange magic, so he kept his distance from anything flammable.

Carefully, he jumped over the wooden fencing. There was no door to speak of on the station and everything was left open to the air—a blessing then.

Sans imagined just touching a doorknob would start a fire!

Inside looked to be a blacksmithing station: an anvil, calipers, and even a lit forge were stuffed into a corner-all looked to be in good condition.

"Heya, anyone here?"

A hot-stream of breath on his neck vertebrae gave an answer. He lifted his gauntlets into the air and turned around slowly, not wanting a fight—and above all, a fire.

Ice wolf, a huge grey muscular beast peered down at Sans. It was amazing and dumbfounding that Sans hadn't spotted any trace of the wolf before—but he should have suspected it.

After all, someone was throwing the ice blocks, as the station wasn't automatic.

And Ice Wolf was the leading expert when it came to throwing ice blocks!

Also, if he recalled correctly, the station was Ice Wolf's property.

"Get out!" The wolf growled.

It was so abrupt…and rude—that Sans couldn't help but be a bit startled.

Also, Ice Wolf was so huge that he was blocking the exit and so Sans couldn't comply immediately to the request.

A shame that.

"Aww, I just wanted to see howls it goin'!"

Ice Wolf sucker-punched Sans.

Puns aren't that painful…are they?

Another punch landed on his skull.

Clang!

He was sent flying against a wall of the station, which apparently was coated in metal. A good thing-if it had been wood the station would easily be on fire.

Regardless, Sans had more pressing matters!

Ice Wolf punched Sans again and if he had not been wearing a helmet, his skull for sure would have popped right off.

Sans was cornered, as the station was small and Ice Wolf took advantage.

He punched and kicked, tossing Sans around like a ragdoll.

Sans actually thanked his lucky stars that he was armored!

"C-come on, you used to be a nice guy!"

It wasn't really a good pun if said guy's name was already ice, but hey—he was under a lot of pressure.

The wolf briefly stopped and Sans took the opportunity to curl in on himself, making himself look smaller.

Sans whimpered loudly, recalling how the dogs at Grillby's interacted on the rare occasions they fought.

Ice Wolf wasn't a dog, but he spoke the same language.

Sans's pathetic surrendering display seemed to satisfy and Ice Wolf pulled away.

"Sans?"

"Y-yeah?"

"You smell like a bitch."

Okay wow, nobody had told him that before. He wasn't even sure what the wolf meant by that.

"…Uh…thanks?"

The wolf snorted and moved to the other side of the workshop, starting to meddle with some tools.

"I'm working, get out!"

Sans shakily stood up, though now that the exit wasn't blocked Sans fixed the wolf with an angry scowl.

San was the type of guy that held onto his grudges and Ice Wolf just earned himself a big one!

"Well, I will. But I came here for a reason, Ice…Wolf? I need help."

Ice Wolf perked up at that and turned to Sans—a change of heart perhaps?

Nope.

Suddenly, the wolf grabbed at Sans, picking him up!

Sans whimpered automatically to beg for mercy, but fortunately he wasn't attacked again.

Instead…he was thrown outside…over the fencing.

He landed face-first into the snow, the momentum carrying him a few extra inches.

Unfortunately, the helmet visor had been up and so Sans's face had been rubbed raw by friction.

Sans couldn't take the pain any longer!

He sat up, only to curled up on himself in a fetal position.

Marrow painted the snow.

He just couldn't take it.

Sans began to cry. Tiny pink tears dripped from his sockets and his ribcage felt unbearably tight, as if the ribs would snap off at any moment.

Flowey for once, slithered out. His tiny face grimacing, either from Sans's appearance, or the fact he was crying.

Honestly, Sans was surprised he could cry—or still cry?

He actually had no memories of crying, zilch, nadda, up until that very moment. Sure…he had cried when his brother, Papyrus, died. But he stopped after the first few times…the fourth, the fifth….the tenth…hundredth? Papyrus could only die so many times before Sans's emotions gave up the ghost.

Sans only had so many tears to spare after all.

"Wow…are you crying? Really, Sans? Hahahahaaaa!" Flowey's beady little eyes glistened and seemed on the verge of crying himself…though likely from joy.

Leave it to the damn flower to point out the obvious!

Sans snatched Flowey, pinching him hard on the steam, just behind his petals.

The laugher died out, the message clear.

Flowey made himself scarce and Sans stood up. His face felt like a hot-mess. He added "take a bath" to his to-do list.

When the tears stopped, it was like a switch had been flipped and Sans felt his emotions drain away.

Ice Wolf was gonna die!

Just the idea put him in a good mood and he chirped in happy anticipation.

Sans leaped the fence again, quietly in hopes of a stealthy approach. His bone-hammer had already been summoned and he clutched it closely, prepared to defend his face with it.

By Asgore's balls, did his face hurt!

Now that he knew the wolf was in the workshop, Sans could just make out his silhouette by the embers of the forge.

He approached, bone-hammer held high. But to his dismay the armor began to glow—his stealth was stripped away!

Ice Wolf was upon him instantly!

To his horror, as Ice Wolf touched the armor the beast did not burst into flames as one would expect.

Instead, the orange magic dissipated and a chill ran up Sans's spine.

Ice Wolf's muzzle glowered with white power and suddenly a jet of cold fog was blown into the air.

It was impossible to dodge!

The fog was laced with ice magic and the armor violently sizzled when it made contact.

A blinding cloud of steam burst from the armor.

Ssssssssssssweeeeash.

Suddenly, everything felt colder and Sans watched in horror as the suit of armor fell forward.

Bamp!

Whatever enchantment that had been holding it up had been neutralized.

Any control Sans had over the armor was lost!

His limbs were simply too short and weak to move the armor without an enchantment.

Sans was easily pinned down as the heavy armor worked against him. The full weight of the wolf was intense and Sans literally froze as ice magic frosted around the armor.

Ice Wolf clawed the helmet visor up. The wolf knew a weak spot when he smelled it-the marrow and tears sold it!

The wolf bit down on San's face!

No mercy….no mercy…no mercy!

Teeth hooked around his nasal bone, right between his sockets.

Sans couldn't see a thing as his eye bounced to the back of his skull.

The teeth had almost taken out his other eye!

Any screams Sans made were muffled as the beast's neck was pressed against his grin.

Sans did the only reasonable thing he could think off and bit back, his grin snapping around the wolf's neck.

Unfortunately, he only managed a mouthful of fur when he bit down—the guy was mighty fluffy.

Shame he wasn't the type of critter to pet.

Sans's cracked teeth and weak jaw didn't pack much pressure.

Hahaha….damn wolf.

Ice Wolf seemed to know as he didn't seem a bit concerned that Sans was biting him on the neck.

Like a chew toy Sans was shaken back and forth!

His bones rattled around the armor, losing coherent structure as a skeleton.

Sans would have been dust if he hadn't continued his hold on the wolf, as the bite allowed some control of the violent shaking.

He managed, to some degree, to pull the wolf's neck in the opposite direction of a shake; else, his skull would have flown off for sure!

Suddenly, he felt the wolf pull upward and the fear that his entire nasal cavity would be ripped off was very real!

Sans bite didn't let up and instincts went into overdrive as he tried his hardest to keep the wolf's neck from moving.

As the two commenced the macabre tug-of-war, Sans called upon his determination.

He collected magic into his hands and managed to maneuver the gauntlets. By a slight miracle, the gauntlets slammed down onto the wolf's head, stopping the shaking.

Crack!

Though Sans couldn't do much about the teeth outright crushing bone!

His eye continued to bounce blindly around his skull and it faded, sputtering sparks of magic.

He panicked…though just the tiniest bit.

Consciousness was slipping away…

…However…

Suddenly, huge vines burst out of his sockets—Flowey!

The vines wrapped around Ice Wolf's muzzle, preventing him from pulling away.

Excellent~!

A particularly thorny vine managed to slither into Ice Wolf's mouth. As the teeth tried to crack the bone further, thorns dug into the roof and tongue of the mouth.

Blood dripped down into the skull and Flowey's attack was further motivated!

Slowly, more and more vines manifested, wrapping around the wolf's neck as Sans's bite held it in place.

However, Flowey was a small plant and had limits. Vines gave way to weaker roots to continue tethering the neck. Flowey too was on the cusp of death.

Sans eye faintly glowed, retaining enough coherency to view Flowey's struggling silhouette.

"…S-sssstrangle…it.." Flowey sputtered, coughing up a milky liquid—flower blood.

Sans barely heard the command, but he acted quickly!

The gauntlets that were pinning the wolf's head slowly moved down to the neck.

…'Strangle it'…yeah, he liked that idea!

Sans's short bones didn't allow for the armor's true potential, but a starling force was still generated from the gauntlets. Fueled by San's magic, they shakily closed around the layered vines and ultimately the wolf's neck—the thick fur helping to keep a grip.

The fight shifted into Sans's favor when Ice Wolf moved his paws to swipe at the gauntlets. The change of weight allowed Sans to sit up, working with gravity to let the armor fall onto the wolf.

The wolf's teeth snapped away and the maul remained opened, tongue lolling out to breath. Vines moved to wrap around the muzzle and snapped it shut—the tongue lolled out, dripping with blood.

Sans was only concerned with one thing.

Time stilled to an eternity as the attack commenced.

His claws, small in comparison to the gauntlets—focused all command into crushing the windpipe. Marrow seeped from his hands as the pressure and magic grew to unbearable levels.

Slureeeeeeeeeeak-!

Thick globs of green splattered as vines snapped. The gauntlets crushed, like vipers ripping blindly at an enemy.

The wolf's thick fur was turned against him as Sans charged red fire into the gauntlets.

Fire…Sans never used fire attacks. Barely knew how…but the armor…had helped tune his magic to the element.

The red fire easily ate the fur down to skin. The armor had grown red-hot and the skin melted against the metal. Ice Wolf gave a muffled yowl when the gauntlets burned deep enough to sever an artery.

Flowey nor Sans could see as Ice Wolf's eyes glazed over; however, a warm stream of blood told them it was over.

Only when the wolf's body went lax against the armor, then did the gauntlets dare give way.


	9. Snowed Out

Sans was in too much pain to appreciate the afterglow of his victory.

Marrow was thick on his nasal cavity and his mandible unhinged. His non-existent lungs heaved to suck in as much air as possible. With each false-breath, clumps of black drool dribbled out.

Sans hands were left stuck together into shaky fists, sticky with marrow akin to glue. In fact, a majority of his bones were left bruised and magical burns singed the once white bone.

The wolf's body had melted against the armor like a morbid blanket. Blood seeped into the armor and Sans groaned in relief as some warmth returned to his bones as it dripped in.

Additionally, the scent of Ice Wolf's blood is what kept Sans grounded…and conscious.

Fainting now would be a dead wish.

Despite how empty it appeared on the outside, Snowdin didn't lack a monster population. Already, Sans was sure a hungry mob was gathering; his marrow and Ice Wolf's blood being a sure magnet.

Eventually, Sans noticed all the vines that were strewn about and was reminded that he hadn't been alone in the fight.

His eye turned inward to spy Flowey and his grin became grim as he saw his…friend?

Flowey lay shriveled at the back of the skull, stem limp against bone. Sans would have been sure the flower was dead, if it had not been for the slow retraction of his roots into his skull.

The gauntlets had closed over the layers of vines and roots when crushing Ice Wolf's neck.

He'd severed the growths and no doubt caused Flowey immense pain. Sans grinded his teeth a bit, stuck with an unpleasant taste of fur.

Honestly, Sans didn't feel guilty over hurting Flowey. It had been a necessary evil, or more of a heat of the moment type situation.

Still, Sans made a mental note that he owed the bud.

Bud…Budeeee…Buddy.

Yeah sure, Sans was fine with the flower being a long-term buddy. Plus, the flower wasn't something that would ever be on the menu anyway…

Sans looked over Flowey with a critical eye.

The flower had gone into shock and his milky blood had painted the insides of his skull. The substance burned, blending poorly with the blood and marrow.

Fine vapors ate at the bone where the substance was most thick—it appeared to be acidic in nature and tiny pockets of pain prickled in his skull.

However, the pain was nothing to what was gripping his entire body, so he paid it no mind.

Flowey himself seemed to be having the worst time. His beady eyes were glazed over as if he wasn't all there; though, he looked a tiny bit better when he retracted all his remaining roots and hugged them close.

Blood had seeped inside which the traumatized roots gravitated to. The roots dipped into the soothing, warm blood and Flowey perked up at the meal. He blinked slowly as he processed the victory.

He gave no expression when he turned to stare into Sans's eye. There was nothing to be said.

Ice Wolf's corpse had melted to the armor and Sans concluded he was in one of the strangest predicaments of his life.

His eye floated over to the hole in the back of his skull, scanning the area for any ideas.

Apparently, he was lying right next to a metal workbench with a small forge besides it. His eye widened as he spotted a variety of tools nearby and he chirped as his mind got creative.

Monsters had always joked that Sans had gotten a bit…well…retarded…ever since he lost a chunk of his skull. That's one idea Sans couldn't tolerate.

Sure, Sans slurred his words a little or it took him longer to articulate a sentence, but he liked to think his general mental facilities remained in peak condition. He just didn't talk as much. Plus, it's not like there was anyone left to talk to.

He was trapped in a suit of armor and the enchantment that allowed him to move was gone—he needed to escape.

But how?

Eventually, Sans compiled a plan. His eye flared hungrily as he decided on a shovel, enveloping it in magic.

In Sans's opinion, shovels were underrated. The tool could do a little bit of everything if used right.

The shovel's tip was maneuvered right underneath the wolf's chest, where it had melted on the thickest.

Slowly the shovel broke through the melted flesh and fur, releasing spurts of blood as the wolf separated.

Sans began drooling as the smell of the dead wolf was delightful. The shovel was fed more magic and with a particularly motivated swing, the body careened off.

Finally, Sans could sit up.

Then, an epiphany overcame him!

If the enchantment was gone and the orange magic had depleted—he could get out of the armor!

Sans painstakingly began to wiggle back and forth—his bones chaffing on the inside.

Despite the armor, most of his bones were bruised and some even had fractured into sticky splinters. Pushing against the cold, metal armor was agony.

"Augh…" Sans choked back a scream, all too aware of the attention it could attract. Screams tended to echo and travel far in the Underground.

San had always been small and short, even after going feral he hadn't gained much mass.

Surviving on almost an exclusively dust diet also left him in poor health.

Claws twitched with sparks of magic. He could levitate the armor, but his magic reserves were already dangerous low from the fight…

Sans swiveled his skull around nervously, conscious of his vulnerability.

Hesitantly, the magic died down. He would save all he could for defense.

Sans stared up at the roof of the station, pondering his predicament.

Briefly, he considered trying to teleport back into the old lady's house but he would still be trapped…and with less tools at his disposal.

His eye wandered again to the workbench.

The shovel was brought up again and it twirled in the air as he decided what to do with it.

Tap-Bhring.

He smacked it on a pauldron in hopes of knocking a piece of armor loose—specifically a gauntlet to get a hand free.

Tappp-Bhhhring!

Nah, no such luck. The vibrations just irritated his bones.

Actually, the armor seemed a bit melted together…crud.

For a few dreadful moments Sans stared off into space—internally screaming.

He wasn't trapped…he wasn't trapped...

Sans would get out. He just needed to stay patient and optimistic…yeah!

With the wolf out of the way he could easily see the whole workshop. The burning forge easily got his attention as everything else was enveloped in darkness.

Forge…fire…orange magic?

Perhaps fire was all there was to orange magic? Sans chirped, curious. He remembered little concerning enchantments, but experimenting was worth a shot.

He maneuvered the shovel over the forge. The shovel scooped up embers and hovered over the armor.

Sans gave himself no time to think things through before the shovel overturned.

The embers bounced off the armor, mercifully avoiding his bones.

Nothing happened, the embers died as they touched the cold metal.

Sans sighed, he wasn't sure what he expected…

Still, the embers made things warmer—a tiny bit more pleasant.

If Sans was going to be trapped in armor he might as well make it comfy.

The shovel went back and forth, depositing embers onto the armor.

He rumbled happily as the embers heated his bones. The heat actually aggravated his wounds. Congealed marrow grew sticky as it melted and his joints popped as pressure was released.

Sans's eye rolled about in pain, but he appreciated the mental acuity said pain brought him.

If the armor stayed cold he would have fallen asleep and would no doubt be in trouble.

The shovel didn't stop bringing over embers. The forge wouldn't stay lit forever so Sans might as well make use of it while he could.

Sans crooned in amusement when the armor ended up buried in embers. He could swear his bones were cooking and drool pooled from his teeth at the idea—bones were the best.

His skull snapped up to look over to the dead wolf, eye wide in hunger.

He would eat that wolf.

Sans smiled. He reached out to drag the wolf closer.

It worked.

"Wha..t?"

A gauntlet had moved without any of his magic!

What?!

He moved both gauntlets and found he could effortless clap them together.

Yes!

His moved the legs and found a response. The orange magic had returned!

Sans clicked his teeth, surprised, but of course happy.

He crushed a handful of embers and the gauntlet glowed with magic. The enchantment must have needed a recharging.

Now that he could move, he knew just what he had to do!

Eat that wolf!

The wolf's body was stiff and frozen. The bone knives he summoned didn't cut into the meat well. He looked around and found some daggers. The daggers had the initials I.W. carved into them: Ice Wolf? Sans thisked and shook his head. Shame, that Ice Wolf had been a douche-the blades were well made.

The satisfaction of cutting up Ice Wolf with knives the wolf had made himself wasn't lost on Sans. He chuckled softly as he stretched out the skin and cracked open the skull to lathered it in brains.

Sans also got the good fortune to find another bag in which he could store the meat and packed snow in the remaining space—to make it last longer and all that.

Along with the knives, Sans found himself pocketing more tools: hammers, handful of nails, and a very fancy ax.

The ax was deluxe and he swung it around. Chopping up trees and monsters alike was really appealing so of course he was keeping it. Plus, he might not always have the magic to summon his bone weapons.

Sans was about ready to leave, but paused when he saw a bucket.

Perfect.

Taking a bath was on his to-do list and a bucket is just what he needed!

His whistled through his teeth as he filled the bucket at the river.

However, he frowned when he realized it needed to be heated. Now that he knew the orange magic could be depleted, he would avoid using it.

The bucket was wooden so he settled on placing embers directly inside. It boiled quickly, though the embers cooled to charcoal, coloring the water black.

The charcoal was a good thing, however. Sans had remembered that charcoal had healing properties—knowledge courtesy of one of the old lady's books on healing.

The bucket was then poured over Sans, seeping into the armor and onto his weary bones. He refilled the bucket and repeated the process several times. At the end, Sans's bones were stained black but he felt a lot better.

The remaining embers cooked small pieces of meat and the forge was depleted when the armor soaked up the last of the fire—bursting with orange magic.

Sans felt amazing!

Eventually, Sans remembered his predicament. Right, he was still in the armor so he needed a way out of Snowdin.

So…how to do that…

Why did he come to the station?

Ahh, something to do with the river! He looked out towards it, something was missing.

Oh the ice!

Sans cringed when he realized killing Ice Wolf might cause problems! Someone had to throw ice, it was important! It cooled down the Core and a variety of other equipment!

He growled—hopefully Ice Wolf was just throwing ice out of namesake and habit, rather due to an actual need…

Sans certainly wasn't about to start throwing ice…

Sighing, he shook the thought process from his mind. If the Core was still on, it needed to be shut down.

He would make sure of it!

Sans blinked—wait, he would make sure? The heroic nature of the thought threw him off, yet the more his mind mulled it over, the more it made sense.

He didn't mean to be egotistical, but he was probably the only monster left in the Underground who knew the ins and outs of the Core. He shrugged. The idea made him a little happy he wasn't dust, yet.

Anyway, he had to get to Hotland! Sans lingered, staring out into the river.

Ha, somewhere out there was River Person! Them and their lame little boat…along with the ice blocks.

Wait…ice.

If he couldn't make a boat out of wood, he could make one out of ice!

Honestly, it was a terrible idea, but Sans hummed with creativity as he laid his eye on Ice Wolf's coveted collection of ice. Huge blocks were stored deep in the station and seemed preserved with ice magic.

Sans was very careful when dragging a block out, fearful it would suck up all the orange magic, but fortunately the dilemma never occurred.

Actually, Sans was sure that orange magic had gotten easier to control ever since the armor got it back. Either the enchantment or himself were getting acclimated to the other.

Sans made use of the various tools and carved out the block into a smooth shape. The result resembled a fat canoe. Sans shrugged. He had practically no confidence in his creation whatsoever as it fell into the river, but it was the option he was going with.

He hopped into the boat, summoning a set of femurs with large hip bones attached…of all things.

Hip bones made surprisingly good rows!

Sans sighed in relief as the river current easily carried the boat.

To Hotland, he goes!


	10. Colors

The boat had melted. It hadn't been a surprising development. The river was considerably warmer in Waterfall, after all. The revelation did nothing to quell Sans's anger, however.

He ended up covered in mud, head to toe, having to push past fetid water.

The armor was covered in mud and he trudged forward like a sludge monster.

Navigating Waterfall was considerably harder than Snowdin. Not only did he never live in Waterfall, the place was an almost endless series of caverns and tunnels—all patterned about with the chaotic-nonsense of nature.

Sans grumbled as he spotted his reflection. Boy, did his looks not improve.

His entire face had some shade of a bruise—ranging from a soft grey to a blotchy indigo.

He chuckled and his eye turned inward—right, he had a passenger. Flower wasn't a looker himself and was currently passed out.

Sans was glad Flower wasn't up for a conversation—patience was very thin at the moment.

Sans continued to venture in and out of tunnels—each time ducking into a cavern with a vein of optimism only to retract it when he found a dead-end.

It was frustrating, and it was a few good hours before Sans admitted to himself that he was lost.

He examined the area, finding that bioluminescent fungus still thrived. He smiled as he combed the cave walls for samples, eating the kind he was familiar with.

Still, it wasn't enough and his hunger grew worse. He took out his bag, bloody with wolf meat. He frowned—Waterfall was about the worse place someone could keep a fire, every surface was wet…so he wouldn't.

Sans sighed, he couldn't eat the meat without cooking it.

Instead, he settled for more fungus and collected a bunch for later—it made for some great cooking.

Sans come across a tiny mushroom. It was unfamiliar and didn't glow, which is likely why he hadn't come across it before. He eyed it with suspicion, though with a shrug, decided to try eating it.

As a skeleton monster, it was harder—maybe impossible to be poisoned but Sans wasn't about to die from something so silly.

A claw sliced off a tiny piece of the cap and popped it in. Hrm, it tasted disgusting—he wasn't surprised.

Most fungus tasted gross—it was a desperately acquired taste. Still, cooking should solve the issue. Sans grumbled, hunger demanding more. He ate more of the tiny mushrooms, less afraid. Some of the tiny mushrooms were gathered for later; he felt a little confident they would be good.

He was careful not to over harvest any of the fungus however and he reluctantly stumbled away. Sans committed the place to memory.

Waterfall was a bit boring, save for all the water and fungus. Unlike Snowdin, there weren't any large residential neighborhoods he could investigate.

A piece of trash floated along a weak current, catching his attention. Sans chirped, a little excited. It was fished out, only to be immediately thrown away—a milk carton—useless! Finding empty food packaging tended to make Sans irrationally angry. Though the trash had been a useful reminder—right, the dump!

It was no doubt the most exciting place in Waterfall, so he was obligated to visit.

Following the route to the Dump was easy once he decided on going there.

A vast sea of garbage greeted him. Piles and piles of trash created mountains to explore.

Yet Sans sighed, foraging for garbage had lost its appeal years ago. What was special about the Dump is that one could find all sorts of knick-knacks from the surface, and before he would make all sorts of projects. Sans grumbled, those days of tinkering were gone now. The only thing remaining on his mind tended to be food related. Roaches thrived among the trash and Sans salivated at the idea of a handful—though catching took some energy—energy he no longer had.

Sans laughed when he remembered seeing monsters eat garbage when magic was readily available…or at least selling it as food—he didn't know if anyone actually did eat it Though, Sans had eaten worse things…and anyone that was left sure did too.

Humming, he dug a gauntlet into the trash randomly—pulling forth…well nothing.

Unidentifiable sludge came back and suddenly Sans wasn't hungry. He cleaned the gauntlet in the water, but any building enthusiasm for the Dump literally washed away. Garbage wasn't on the menu that day.

Sans leaned against a pile, considering taking a nap. He tipped his skull back, briefly enjoying the ambience of Waterfall. True to its namesake, waterfalls littered the place, which were the only things keeping the place relatively clean from the vast amount of garbage—or so, Sans liked to think.

It was safe to say that Sans appreciated them. He listened to the echoing roars, letting the old friend of relaxation take over him.

\-----

Abruptly, Sans stumbled away from the pile of trash. His senses were thrown into overdrive as strange echoes began to fill the place. Sans felt his mind pull away, his body feeling foreign and unmanageable. The echoes had grown into a mess of sound.

A swirl of color began to flicker at the corner of his vision.

At first, Sans thought it was a dream, as he couldn't will himself to do much. He felt attached to the trash he had been leaning on.

He hissed and clutched his skull—something was wrong!

Black drool dribbled down his teeth as he found it harder to move. His bones rattled and his vision scrambled.

Oh, everything was beautiful!

He knew he was staring at garbage, piles and piles of it, but things had been twisted into an array of colors.

A cardboard box looked to be patched up with bright stickers. A broken table now had a fresh coat of paint. The sludge-covered trash he'd considered eating before looked rather appealing, colored a healthy beige with rainbow chunks—like dinosaur oatmeal.

The water was flowing a welcoming pink and swirls of color popped up the longer he looked at the current.

Sans reasoned, he must have teleported to a paradise. Stranger things had happened to him.

He followed the pink river, which was slowly twisting into a rainbow.

Rainbows…folks found treasure at the end of those, right?

Sans followed the rainbow, finding no reason not to.

He walked around, perhaps in circles as he spied the same cardboard box and table several times over.

Going in circles, he really didn't mind though. The colors were so calming, so fun.

He was afraid the colors would go away.

And suddenly the colors did.

Colors died one by one, the pink river being the only remaining one.

Sans grew desperate to get the colors back so he ran, following the lingering stretches of pink.

He almost made it, almost saved it—he thought, as an armored boot splashed into a puddle of water.

The last particles of pink died when he saw his reflection.

"NO!"

A skull dripping black stared back. Sans couldn't look away. Even when he turned and his hands covered his vision, the image didn't leave him.

It was himself, Sans had enough sense to know that.

A hand pulled away, slick with black drool.

Sans was losing his magic. He heaved up his meal, adding to the puddle.

He stumbled away from the mess as quickly as he could. The armored boots did poorly on the slippery terrain of the Dump and Sans had to claw at the piles of trash to stay upright.

Now that the colors were gone, along with his meal, Sans could sort out his senses.

He'd gotten sick!

The taste of the new mushrooms was very potent and his teeth needed a cleaning.

Sans lumbered forward, still groggy from the colors. Flickers of patterns were seen in the corner of his sight, but he paid it little mind.

He was wholly focused on getting the terrible taste out of his mouth.

A grave desperation filled him as he stared at the dirty waters of the Dump.

Sure, skeleton monsters rarely got sick, but he wasn't about to rinse his mouth with garbage water.

He had standards!

Or so he thought…

The pink water returned and Sans wasn't letting it get away again. He cupped his hands, growling when the water seeped immediately through his carpals.

Of course, how stupid!

He dunked his head underwater, instead.

"Aughauack!"

Recoiling in shock he fell backwards. Dirty water dripped from his teeth and Sans froze in agony over the horrible taste.

What had he been thinking?

Though dirty, heck—putrid, absolutely rancid—the water returned to a savory pink. Sans remained drawn to it, despite the disgusting flavor. It was pretty and the red-tinted reflection of his skull swirled into a delightful mess…

Mess…oh boy…Sans was messed up—had messed up!

He should have never wanted the colors! The pink was becoming too intense!

The water burned into a red and a twinge of fear manifested.

Sans sought to understand the colors; though, he didn't want to.

\-----

The colors showed him the way to go, the pink water thinned in places were the correct places to go.

Sans pushed forward, past the Dump and into a deeper, more cavernous region of Waterfall.

He found a path, devoid of the pink.

Was it safe?

The path was a stretch of land, having water on both sides. The entire area was pitch black. Only illumination offered by his eye and previous knowledge of the path layout allowed him to navigate.

The water looked cleaner than at the Dump, but Sans didn't entertain the idea of drinking it.

The path put him on edge. Sans had no means to escape. Water surrounded both sides, so he was limited to up and down movements.

Plus, his armor would no doubt drown him if he tried swimming.

Sans moved as fast as he could.

He was right to do so.

A loud splash sounded and something large slithered onto the path.

Gravel was racked into the water as it approached.

It was huge!

Sans jumped.

A large silhouette slammed into the ground he'd been standing a breath ago.

It was long and girthy—a terrifying combination.

He barely stuck a landing as the armor worked against him.

The silhouette swung back behind.

Bash.

Sans fell forward as he was hit. His armor smoked at the contact.

Sizzzzz.

He sniffed the air, finding a distinctly fishy smell—a water monster then.

The armor was hit again at the front and Sans felt a burst of steam hit his face.

Sizzzzz.

Teeth cracked under pressure as rage awoke inside him.

Sizzzzz. Clack.

Another hit was to his side. A large splash flooded over him.

He could see now in the faint light that there was more than one attacker. The light from his eye increased as much as he could spare. Only the ground could be seen as the silhouettes circles him.

Sans barely felt the flickers of his magic, so summoning an attack would be akin to suicide. His bones would disconnect if he didn't have enough!

"Yah'hear?" A voice whispered.

The attack paused just enough for Sans to ready the ax taken from Ice Wolf.

He'd almost forgotten about it.

Sans clutched it awkwardly, not used to the weight distribution as he held it aloft.

He swung it confidently however.

Sleash!

A silhouette was hit.

"Sauaraugh!" The voice screamed, the tone pathetically high pitched.

It had been a good hit then.

Sans smiled cruelly. He'd make these attackers suffer!

Sleash!

All at once everything came down upon Sans. He had no time to scream himself at the rising steam blinded what little vision he had.

The colors returned however. A flicker of pink rose from the steam, helping him remember who he was.

Sans swung the ax with everything he had, slicing in an arce. He wouldn't cut anything cleanly, but each attacker would feel a sting—a preview of what was to come.

He pushed forward onto the path, paying careful attention to the ground. The axe slung blindly, but together with the armor, the combination was enough to make progress.

However, with each step the path eroded down further into the water.

Sans hadn't realized until a boot sunk deep into mud.

It was a trap!

"No!"

He didn't have the strength to break free! The armor pulled him down faster and faster.

The attackers returned, a pack that barreled down on him.

The touch of the armor worked to push them back, but it only gave a few seconds at best.

Slap!

The ax had slipped away.

Sans's hand was missing too.

The attack was too much and he fell into the water. He saw that the droplets were pink just as he was pulled underneath.


	11. Water

Water. It always seemed so delicate when it cascaded against rocks, softening up rough edges and the tips of lost weapons.

Sans never imagined it would destroy him.

He always expected something more spectacular.

A blast from an experiment gone wrong or laughing too long from a malicious joke seemed like more fitting ends for him.

Only Grillby had ever confided in him a fear of water.

Sans understood him now.

Being of bones and metal he sunk right down to the bottom, denser than any rock.

He desperately pushed against the armor. The fire enchantment had been smothered by the water and didn't even have any power to conjure a bubble or two.

Sans curled up onto himself, drawing his knees and arms close.

As he did so he realized something. The armor was missing a gauntlet.

And that he was missing a hand!

Only the knob of his humerus remained.

His remaining hand grasped the bone, shaky with horror.

The magic holding him together was thin. He was close to falling apart.

He looked up. There was only darkness.

\-----

Sans awoke in fire. He thought it strange.

He expected death to be cold; but as his eye spotted flames flickering around him, suddenly he felt very much alive.

"Arraugh!" He screamed.

He jumped up!

Quickly he rolled to the side, the armor clanking as it met stone and snapped branches underneath.

Barely he could get his wits about him, before he sensed a presence nearby.

River Person loomed over him, a shadow that Sans swiped at...and missed!

"Tra la la~!" River chimed in greeting.

Sans stood, shoulders stretched to attack.

But River didn't move, just continued to sing.

"Tra la la~!*

River's accompanying boat too was there. It had climbed up on land with a set of four pawed legs.

Sans stared at the oddity.

He hadn't known boats could do that.

Then his anger arose as his bones pinched with pain. The marrow had been half cooked and he realized in bitter fascination that he smelled delicious.

"Mind explaining why I was in a fire?!" Sans snapped. He did he best to come off as intimidating, but his voice squeaked in confusion.

It couldn't be helped. He growled and a vapor of smoke left his stained teeth.

"La la…"

River stopped their singing and swayed back and forth a bit.

Sans's eye grew wide as he watched, paranoid as to what River would do. It was like a huge snake was dancing besides him.

Then the swaying stopped and River stilled, their hood cocked as if considering something.

"I...was going to eat you."

Sans blinked. It took a moment to understand.

Then, he attacked!

Of course! It's what monsters did these days, eat the other.

The robe swayed just out of Sans's grip.

The claws of the gauntlet only swiped air.

Distanced was between them. Sans glared at River, but it was hard to as River didn't have a face.

Slowly, River raised a hand in an attempt at pacification.

River continued, undeterred.

"It made sense. I like bones."

Sans was too bewildered to hear what River had said, but he didn't attack.

It was the raised hand that gave him pause.

The dark cloak had fallen away.

The hand was white and thin.

It was skeletal, just like his.

"Wha-" Sans's question died when River flipped up their hood--a skull shown, cracked and as off-white as his own.

Oh. Wow.

Sans was silent, unsure of what to say.

He hadn't met another skeleton besides his brother before...or so he recalled.

"You're a skeleton?" The answer was obvious and River plainly looked him over, as if admonishing him.

"No food...since you're up."

The boar creaked in response, as if whining.

Sans noticed how River and the boat inched closer to the nearby pond. The same one he'd supposedly fallen into.

They feared him.

Good.

He smiled. Finally things seemed to fall into his favor.

His jagged teeth glowed as the armor conjured flames around him.

The enchantment was strong and healthy as the fire had renewed it.

River poked a stick into the very same fire.

The fire roared as River placed a generous amount of kindling on top-dried seaweed, which made the area smell delightful.

Sans remembered how strongly he smelled of marrow and his mouth watered.

Unfortunately there was nothing to cook.

He looked over at the pond. The water was black and tar-like.

He couldn't help but to recall his prized bag of meat.

No doubt it was long gone and probably fed whatever had attacked him.

Sans clicked his teeth and grumbled as he sat down opposite the fire.

He considered attacking River again.

Very well he could manage to cook River in their own fire. He smiled.

But a lingering sense of honor had kept him at bay. River and the boat had rescued him, saved him from dusting-even if it had been for a selfish reason.

He only just realized. The smile fell.

Damn.

Besides, River cleverly had an arm hooked around the boat's neck. Both would be off into the water if he attacked.

And he'd be alone.

For some reason the idea didn't settle well with him.

His eye rolled inward to check on Flowey. He'd just remembered.

The flower looked alive. It's petals still had color, but the steam looked twisted and wilted…

Sans knew very well that dead plants looked different from monsters. Flowers specifically had petals that gave off a sort of dignity...

Sans certainly couldn't say that about anything else dead.

Still he didn't dare touch Flowey. Dead or not.

While he was distracted.

River surprised him.

They leaned forward, with a drink in hand. It was passed over to Sans in a crood ceramic cup.

Tea.

"Thanks." He rumbled.

Sniffing it discreetly, Sans concluded it wasn't poison. River was drinking their own, unaware or not caring of his suspicion.

It was seatea, likely made with the same seaweed that scented the fire.

The two appreciated the silence that followed.

Sans looked over River, finding they had sockets that glowed red like his own-riddled with dust and determination.

Sans had many questions...but it wasn't the time to ask.

It was with some regret he reflected on never taking the time to know River better.

He knew everyone else in Snowdin, and a good number around the whole Underground, which was courtesy of being a sentry-a branch of military.

It was a no-brainer now seeing a skeleton in front of him, to get to know River.

But it was too late, he concluded. He recalled the scent of marrow and how delicious it was.

If River became a friend...one of them would just end up eating the other.

He knew. It's what instinct told him.

Marrow was too delicious to pass up.

River was thinking the same thing--their eyes glowed hungrily and their neck dipped like a viper's.

The seatea was clutched tight, a lifeline to reel in hunger.

Several cups of tea passed between them. Each cup grew more bitter and unsatisfying.

Eventually the last cup was drained. The two stared each other down.

The boat was the first to move, nudging River's side...

And off the pair went, along the water, which Sans grew to hate.

He hated River and the boat too--envious of their seamless escape.

Now alone, he watched the fire die out.


	12. Ax-ing

Sans stared long and hard at the water.

He really, really, didn't want to go back out there. All he could hear was the faint churning of dark pools as smaller monsters skittered around in the darkness.

If Sans fell again into that void of water, his bones would break apart.

He grunted in amusement, as he imagined his bones being washed away into Waterfall's garbage heaps….just like the trash he was

Trash.

Trash bag.

The word was a bit too familiar.

Sans rolled his eye inward a bit snidely. Flowey was still huddled in his skull, and by some miracle he'd avoided being washed away. Or cooked in that fire.

Still, Sans couldn't remember how he knew this flower before.

He dared to poke in a claw, and to touch one of Flowey's petals. It wiggled. For a moment it seemed the petal had wilted and would break away...instead…

It did fall and become detached, but the injury stirred Flowey.

His stem twisted around and he shot Sans a glare, but it was half-hearted.

In fact, Flowey didn't seem to be around. His beady eyes scowled, but looked right past Sans, as if he were dreaming.

Flowey then twisted back around and curled up with glazed eyes- a look of death, perhaps.

Sans huffed. A puff of magic left his nasal bone in what he could only define as relief.

Flowey was alive...for the moment.

If a little flower like him could survive what they had been through so far...well, Sans could continue on.

He managed a kick in his step, the thought of Flowey provided just enough inspiration for Sans to walk on.

Sans deftly ignored his missing hand and how lopsided he felt when he stood up. It had been his left, his dominant hand that had wielded the ax. It's loss was much more potent and lingering than Sans could've anticipated, so he looked past it...pretending he'd never had it.

Sans leaned against a tree, as dead and dry as he was. All was quiet...until…

*Ssssnap*

Sans spun around, arm raised for a fight!

Slowly, his arm lowered. He chuckled.

The tree had simply burst into flames.

"Gah haha!" His voice cracked. It was the first time Sans had genuinely laughed in a while.

Sans stumbled backwards. That fire certainly had caught his attention.

He stared in admiration at the tree, partly because he had nothing else to do; and, that fire itself was likable in comparison to the water surrounding him.

Sans also suspected he was developing some sort of Stockholm relationship with the fire. It reminded him of better times: the comfort of the old lady's fireplace, the glow of Grillby's bar, and the sweet satisfaction of hearing the snap of meat as it charred over a campfire.

Of course, fire was also weighing him down. Grillby's cursed armor would be the death of him.

He smacked the armor's cuirass, which sent out sparks with each impact.

Sans hummed idly. Good, hopefully the armor wouldn't lose it's magic anytime soon.

And, the sparks also gave him an idea.

He snapped off a branch of the still-roaring tree. He held the branch out like a torch, through it was entirely aflame, like a giant, burning baton.

The branch was thick enough, Sans figured, that he could get use out of it before it crumbled into charcoal.

Sans had no fear of burning, he noted, as flames traveled freely along the armor; unlike the water he loathed to cast the light over.

\-----

To his dismay, Sans found himself walking a familiar path-literally, as he saw the past imprints of the armored boots along Waterfall's rocky mud.

Sans sighed. He turned away, intending to find another path to Hotland.

*Squish*

But.

Something "squished" behind him.

"G'day."

Quickly Sans cast the fire over where he heard the noise. There was just water, at first. A circle-shaped silhouette bobbed closer...

After a moment, a small, fuzzy creature stared back at him. It's beady eyes just barely broke the surface.

"I have a proposal," It gurgled though its mouth, half-full of water.

"I saw what happened ta yah." The tone was strange and not unfriendly, as if it cared, and had the luxury of eating something other than dust.

The creature did another remarkable thing, and poked more out of the water.

Didn't it know that it was inviting Sans to attack? That his teeth quivered as he looked over its finely oiled coat, with grave want for the hidden salted meat?

Apparently not.

The creature was bold. It had only two fuzzy, nubbed-shaped paws in which to grip the land. It couldn't hope to outrun anything.

Sans remained frozen as he watched the creature slowly heave itself up. With a wet flop, its fuzzy tail twisted around its muddy, flailing body.

There, clasped tightly against the tail was...his ax.

"I believe this is yours. It's a most wonderful tool, mate! While I loath to give it up, yah certainly can make better use of it."

Sans gaped. His nostrils buzzed as they radiated red. He...struggled to compose himself.

His ax! His ax! It was there, right there!

"You can call me Catface. I used ta ferry folks round' here yah know-"

"Give it." Sans grumbled. Catface bristled at the interruption. He smiled but it didn't reach his eyes.

"Roight." Catface struggled to wield the ax. His tail was slimy and the ax trembled against the grasp.

*Frrrip!*

The ax slipped suddenly. It cut into the mud as if it were sweet chocolate.

Narrowly the blade had missed coming down on top of Catface's lanky middle.

"Oi...ey, there yah go." Catface's eyes had widened considerably, akin to pearls twinkling in the dark. Was that the look of fear, embarrassment--both? Sans couldn't place it.

Sans never took his eyes off Catface as he placed the torch between he teeth.

He bent down to grab his ax and Catface gasped at the flames licking at Sans's cheeks.

"What's the catch?" Asked Sans. Nobody did much for free anymore.

Catface straightened and his ears perked. He seemed offended, like he wanted to say something against it, but then closed his mouth as he reconsidered.

Surely, he'd noticed how much larger Sans was in comparison. Perhaps the dust and blood that clogged his jacket and stained his face? No?

Catface's features slowly took on a guilty look. His smile grew thin and needle-like.

"Well...since yah asked...I do got an idea...a good one!"

Sans didn't like how hesitant Catface sounded.

"I...I need yah to kill Onionsan! Please! Please! He's nuttso, gotta go!"

"So, you are ax-ing me to kill someone?"

The pun was lost on Catface. Any mood for good conversation seemed to have left him.

"Yes, yes! You gotta! He's eaten almost everything! The fish, me friends, even all the shiniest rocks."

Sans shrugged. "What's the problem in that? Monsters gotta eat, right? It's the rules down here…"

Sans crouched down so he could be eye level with Catface. His eye flared red and he smiled when Catface smartly bounced a few paces backwards.

"Yes, true..." With a flick of his ears, Catface put on a brave show. "But it's different with Onionsan. I swear it!"

Catface kneaded nervously in the mud. "But, the deal is...don't you want revenge?"

"Excuse me?"

"Yah know, revenge?" Onionsan is the who attacked yah down that path, roight?"

"...What?" Sans couldn't believe it...

Catface cocked his head. "Sure as it's wet down here, mate. That slimy noodle-limbed freak became a roight pest. Can't even enjoy swimming no more."

"Fine...I'll do it."

Catface smiled cheekily. "Excellent! What's your name friend?"

"Sans." There was a pause.

A glimmer of recognition passed over Catface.

"Oh…" Faintly, he twitched in terror.

"Good luck." He squealed as he slinked back into the water.

\-----

The torch was burning bright between Sans's teeth. His confidence grew as the path literally opened up to him. He was no longer stuck bumbling blindly into a pitch black void.

'Disgusting.' Thought Sans as he held back a grimace. The smell and taste of the torch was disorientating. It was swampy and mildewy.

Flames flickered in and out of his vision. The branch almost snapped in half as he clenched his teeth in frustration.

Stupid fire...stupid water...stupid darkness…

Sans didn't like his situation one bit.

His remaining hand swung the ax with every step and the armor squeaked as mud had caked between the joints.

What Sans hated most of all was that he had to stay glued to the disgusting mud path, retracing his footsteps.

Numerous monsters lay in pieces and bones poked out from the muck. Ha had almost become one of them.

This Onionsan had never met him formally, when the world was right; but, Sans suspected he'd never would have gotten along with the monster to begin with. Not even he, left his prey in such a messy and disrespected state.

"Fucken'...stupid." Grumbled Sans. He stared up at a huge fish carcass, not even eaten and left to rot.

The fish would've been big enough to last a month or more. Sans sighed. What a waste.

He ran gauntlet-claws over the dried scales. A pattern of odd dots ran across the fish's length-tentacle markings.

No doubt, the mess was the work of Onionsan.

Catface had mentioned "noodle-arms."

Though Catface had been a little odd, he certainly was right. Sans normally wouldn't have accepted Catface's request, but he was right.

This Onionsan had to die. He was a fool to waste food.

Any doubts Sans had about killing the monster immediately vanished as he stepped into another partially decayed fish.

"Gross." He mumbled.

It wasn't long before the muddy path grew thinner and thinner. His footprints became more erratic...until...the prints ended in a muddy blurr.

This was the spot where he'd been attacked.

The light from the torch was a life saver. It opened up the area more than Sans's magic ever could have, even at full strength.

No doubt, the bright glow gave away his position to any monster that could spot him.

He decided to let the prey come to him for once.

"Onionsan!" He called out. No use in being sneaky when Onionsan was hiding comfortably in a watery void.

*Sssqueash*

Sans grinned as he heard a hard slap against the ground, then another, and another…

Soon the entire mudpath was covered in butter-yellow tentacles, which wiggled in the mud like worms.

"I hear yah~!" The voice was high pitched, and if Sans thought back hard enough, did match the voice that had flung him into the water…

"Ooooo. Ooooo." Onionsan coed as his large bulbous head peeked from the water.

"You're small, a tiny munch n' crunch. But should be good, y'hear?"

Sans heard loud and clear. His eye glowed intensely, as he struggled to reign in his anger.

He'd almost been done in, by a...by this...goofy abomination!

Onionsan's eyes were big, comically so. And creepy, so very creepy.

No doubt the eyes could see Sans's every move with accuracy. He observed how Onionsan's pupils dilated back and forth if he so much as shuffled his feet.

"I like yah armor, so shiny. I'll put it with my shinies collection~!" Chirped Onionsan.

And then the battle commenced.

Sans didn't dare let Onionsan make the first move!

Just a single, aimed swing from a tentacle would send Sans back into the water.

Already he was regretting his decision to fight. As Onionsan splashed around, the torch had almost been extinguished by stray droplets.

Sans dropped low to the ground. He'd have to finish the fight quickly!

The torch between his teeth was crumbling.

The fight would be over if he got stuck in the dark

With reluctance he placed his ax to the side and pulled the torch out.

"Onionsan, look! Look at this shiny...stick!" It was the loudest Sans had talked in awhile. He felt ridiculous as he waved the torch, slowly, back and forth.

Onionsan's tentacles seemed to calm. For a few seconds there was peace, no splashing or squeaking of mud.

Slowly, Onionsan's face grew close. His huge eyes widened as he took in the sight of the fire.

The torch had made for the perfect lure.

Sans suspected he might not have seen anything like it before.

Onionsan smiled. A single tooth was as big as Sans.

Between the rows of teeth, a tiny familiar gleam caught his eye.

The armor seemed to react, and embers glowed in the engraving of the metal.

The tip of a tentacle edged closer to the torch.

Sans dropped further into a crouch-aiming.

"Gahh!" With great effort Sans sent the torch flying, right into one of Onionsan's impossibly huge eyes-the perfect target!

Unfortunately, the torch didn't stick, instead it crumbled on impact, making a black cloud.

Onionsan's reaction was instantaneous!

"Yahhhhhhhhhahhhhhh!"

The scream was enough to shatter glass.

Tentacles flailed randomly. Most wiped at the blackened eye.

For a moment, it seemed Sans would be pulled under, as a tentacle snaked around a boot-but then he remembered the ax.

He held it proudly and the armor's magic charged the blade into a red-hot glow.

As the tentacles grabbed at him and flung mud, the blade cut through Onionsan as if he was a creampuff!

Soon the ground underneath Sans began to flood from Onionsan's great thrashing.

The armor burst into flames, as Sans's full anger was let loose.

He jumped in a great jet of flame, onto Onionsan's head.

The boots melted onto his skin and allowed Sans a good grip.

He struck fast and hard into Onionsan's flesh, the ax still red and molten hot.

Each strike caused a burst of steam.

It blinded Sans, but Onionsan as well.

"Ahhhhhhyahhhhh!"

Blindly Sans hacked away at Onionsan, smirking wider and wider as tentacles stopped making grabs for him as he burned the tips off.

Finally, in a great swing, the ax ripped into the white of Onionsan's last eye.

Things became eerily quiet then. Onionsan made not a sound as he stopped moving... tentacles still thrashed, but didn't change position.

His bulbous head sunk considerably into the water, especially when Sans yanked the ax out of the socket.

Sans grabbed hold of a strange little horn that protruded from Onionsan's head.

He leaned against it and took a well deserved rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Some readers may have noticed it has been a while since the last update--sorry about that.  
> Rest assured this story has a rough draft with an ending--it's just a matter of fixing up the chapters.
> 
> Anyway, any comments+kudos are appreciated. Cheers!


	13. An Ax-ccident

Onionsan was delicious.

Sans chewed a piece of the meaty rubber. It was half cooked from the armor. The taste was sharp, almost like a fishy swiss or cheddar.

"Finally." He rumbled in delight.

Finally, a proper meal!

Sans had sunk right into Onionsan's head. He'd burrowed past the gelatin-like skull with ease. Soon Sans was stewing in brain mush, as the armor's enchantment cast out fire.

Brains, ahh...

Brains Sans didn't care much for.

The taste was very bland, and even more rubbery than Onionsan's actual flesh.

As Sans watched Onionsan boil, a grand epiphany overcame him. He just about facepalmed.

"Darn it." He chuckled. "Why didn't I think of this sooner?"

Sans laid down onto his back. Steam rose up around him like a demented sauna as the armor continued its cooking.

The gauntlet claws made cutting up the meat a breeze. The claws twirled around, making circled cuts and squishy patties.

Sans placed the meat directly onto the armor's cuirass. And the meat cooked well, ridiculously well.

"Oh my god...is this how Grillby got the idea to make burgers?! Hahaha…" Sans wheezed. He just about laughed himself unconscious.

Several Onionsan-brand burgers sizzled away.

Sans had turned himself into the Underground's most unconventional grill.

'Best day ever!' Sans concluded.

After Sans had eaten his fill of burgers, he still had a problem. Sans was on land, evaluating Onionsan's huge, huge corpse.

Just how in the hell was he going to move it?

Sans wasn't about to leave it rotting. He wasn't wasteful like Onionsan had been.

The issue got even more pressing as he realized the corpse was left bobbing in water. If kept that way, the meat would quickly putrefy. Leaning closer, he saw small silhouettes of monsters eating the submerged half.

Sans idly wondered if Catface was among them. He wasn't against sharing when he had so much.

Sans shrugged. Well it was his kill, his energy exerted. Rarely did he do much physical activity, even when the world was right.

"Welp, not about to leave this here." Sans bundled up the few tentacles still attached to the corpse. He pulled said tentacles and the corpse bobbed forward like an elastic toy.

It wasn't the most appealing means of transportation. Sans managed to get Onionsan out of the water. Then, he realized the corpse was much, much heavier on land than he'd anticipated.

Sans held in a chuckle. "Wow, too much food. I like this problem."

Sans nibbled off a piece of meat, chewing it like gum as he thought.

"Hrmm.." He'd gotten an idea...but he wasn't keen on it. After his feast he had more magic than he knew what to with.

He could levitate anything with mass…though Sans never had practiced the skill on anything bigger than a pinecone or tree...and that was back when he'd been healthy…

Sans sighed, scratching at his broken socket. It had been awhile since he thought about magical spells.

A red glow enveloped Onionsan, but it died down before the corpse could move.

"Nah." Sans didn't know how long he'd have to hold it. Levitation would just use up all his energy before he could stash the corpse in a nice place...

Sans sighed for the upteenth time. What a problem to have.

"Fine." He grumbled to himself. He'd avoided even thinking of his "signature move," spell ever since things went bad.

It just wasn't practical. It was too powerful and flashy.

Did...did he still even remember how to do it?

Only one way to find out! Sans raised his arm.

The gauntlet shivered as red sparked along the claw tips.

*Sssshhhizzzzzz sssshhhizzzzzz shhhizzzz*

The magic hissed as particles flew left and right, digging into the dimensional vale Sans used to carry all his bones.

A sad, sad rendition of a Gaster Blaster was conjured in a red swirl. After the initial flash of magic, any potential to wow or to strike fear into onlookers with its appearance was...zero.

"Oh...ouch." Sans was mortified. And, very disappointed.

The Gaster Blaster was supposed to be a oversized, beastly skull, with teeth that curdled blood.

Now it looked like the glued-together scraps of a bargain bin and an old man's dentures.

Calling the blaster a skull would've been generous.

It had no sockets to speak of. Instead everything had melted together. The cranium had caved in, leaving small puffs of dust wherever it floated.

The only thing impressive about the blaster were the jaws. It had no nasal cavity due to the melting, making it look like a giant ant head.

Sans shrugged, trying to forget his embarrassment.

Good, jaws were good. He needed jaws to pick things up…

The blaster bit down onto the bundle of tentacles and more, as it dragged the corpse backwards.

Sans walked besides the blaster, his arm held high so he could control it.

He avoided eye contact with the abomination, as if he could avoid association with it.

\-----

Sans was all too eager to call away the blaster. Every moment it was around, made Sans nauseous. Perhaps he felt fear, as the magic twisted strangely throughout his marrow.

It was too much power? Too much magic?

Regardless, Sans's bones couldn't handle sustaining the blaster much longer...

So it was a miracle when Sans rounded a corner, to spy a comfortable spot to store his cache.

It was...Undyne's house.

"The fish bitch's place…" Sans slurred to himself. He was getting groggy. His bones threatened to crack under the pressure of the magic.

Quickly, Onionsan was placed down. The blaster disappeared in a satisfying swirl and snap. Sans fell down onto his knees, to rest a moment as he wiped away sweaty residue.

Undyne's face sat before him. Her own house was fashioned after her image; which, spoke volumes of her horrendous ego, in Sans's opinion.

Any other day Sans would have cracked a rib in disgust over seeing Undyne's face; but, being stuffed with magic with plenty to spare did wonders for his mood.

It also helped that Undyne's face had decayed and turned ugly under Waterfall's rot-of course, not like Undyne had been pretty to start with

The scales of Undyne's face were moldy and half-broken. The windows were dark and partially shattered.

The place was abandoned; Sans would've bet coin on it.

No monster hardly dared to touch anything with association towards Undyne once she began ruling cruelly, anyhow.

Sans was a bit surprised to see the house intact. He had figured an angry mob looted and destroyed it the day Undyne was eaten alive.

Sans chuckled, as he'd figured the job would fall to him.

A gauntlet hovered over the door handle. It would taken only a few seconds for the house to burst into flames...but, he pulled his hand away. "Nah." He grumbled.

Sans at least wanted to see what was inside first, and random acts of vandalism wasn't like him at all...

'Tisk Tisk.' He mentally chided.

Onionsan was dragged over closer to the doorway, near a window. If Sans broke in, he could also keep a good eye on the meat.

*Creaknasck*

With a quick swing from his ax, the door handle broke off and the door squeaked open.

Sans didn't bother to glow his eye as he stepped into the dark house.

The armor's engravings glowed faintly and provided all the light he needed.

Undyne's house was smaller and more practical than his own. There were no stairs to upper or lower levels. The kitchen, dining area, and living room all shared the same space, with no walls to divide them...hrm…It was the perfect, lazy setup for Sans.

He was glad he hadn't been so quick to burn it down…

Sans checked out a window, making sure Onionsan was still around. On impulse he investigated the kitchen. He expected to find grimy, rusted silverware and pans, but frowned when he found neither.

The kitchen was too clean. *Squek* He ran a claw over the marble counter. There was little, to no dust.

Sans looked around, the same was true for the rest of the house.

*Crannnng*

Accidentally, Sans had pushed a metal pan onto the floor. It spun, frantic with vibrations, until Sans angrily stamped it still.

He froze, mentally cursing his clumsiness.

*Snap*

He blinked, his eye briefly glowed red. He heard a noise...just around the corner. There was a door, hidden just out of sight, behind the refrigerator.

He wasn't alone.

The ax felt satisfyingly heavy as he held it in a ready, chopping motion.

Sans smiled. Finally things were feeling normal again. With a shove, the refrigerator went down, smoking in the spots the armor had touched it.

*Creaknasck*

The ax popped the door open in a single, clean hack.

A silhouette moved to hide...but was too slow and obvious.

Sans swung the ax, hard.

Instead of the anticipated crunch of bone and flesh, the ax clunked dully against the ground. It was harder to swing with precision when only using one hand...

"Damn it." Grumbled Sans. It was the distraction the silhouette needed and it darted out of the room.

'Oh no you don't.' Thought Sans.

He couldn't let it escape!

He couldn't let it see Onionsan!

It'd bring friends, and they'll take everything he had!

The silhouette made it halfway through the living room, before Sans was able to aim the ax.

It didn't occur to Sans that he didn't need to throw the ax before it had already landed.

*Ch-shink* "Ahhhh!" The silhouette crumpled down onto the floor.

There it was. The sound he was looking for.

Unfortunately, the result didn't stick. Though the hit had landed, the prey still made for the door.

Then Sans remembered his magic. He reached out with a cruel hand, dragging the kicking and wailing mass back with ease.

The red glow along his claws and eye danced like devil-puppetry. San's felt the metal boots squeak from blood as he yanked the ax back.

"No! No!" Said it.

'No, indeed.' Thought Sans. He couldn't let it get away.

The ax was drawn back. He placed a foot on it to keep it still.

One chop would do it in…

Ahh, but then he saw it--really saw it.

His own red glow betrayed him as he saw the face of his victim.

"Oh, you're just a kid." Sans sighed.

He knew this kid too. He couldn't kill him.

Plus, it was his one rule.

"Nice seeing you again, kiddo." He patted the kid awkwardly on the head with his handless humerous.

The kid didn't say a word. He hadn't gotten a good look at Sans. His face was smushed against the floor, muffling his sobbing.

Sans smiled nervously as he noticed the blood at his feet.

"Ahh, kid. Looks like we just had a little ax-ccident here." As if to make a point, he punted the ax into a random crevice of darkness.

"See, you're fine, honest." Sans reached down with his free-hand, to pet the kid in what he assumed to be a comforting manner.

Of course, the kid stiffened under his touch and still squirmed to get free.

Unfortunately...Sans couldn't let him go. An entire group of monsters could be on the way and he needed to get the kid's story straight.

"Kid, you're gonna tell me everything I want to know."

He didn't wait for an answer and squeezed the kid's neck.

Sans only let go once the kid fell limp and unconscious against the floor.

\-----

The kid woke up to a lite up house, in perhaps, for a very long time.

The wiring of Undyne's house was surprisingly well kept and stable. Sans had so much magic to use and give, getting back the electronic luxuries of a house; even for a little while, had been too good to pass up.

All the lights were on, the refrigerator hummed,even the television buzzed with a static-program, and best of all-the oven worked.

Of course, since the electricity was powered by Sans's magic, everything was casting out an eerie red glow.

The kid was horrified.

He was currently tied up and strapped to a chair. Had he been killed and transported to Hell?

Sans was in high spirits as he boiled some meat over the stove.

Cooking. He was...cooking.

He couldn't believe it.

It was such a wonderful change of luxury, he wasn't sure what to do with himself. He stared at the bubbles and stirred continuously, as if a trance.

"Let me go, you big, fat meanie!"

Eventually, the kid got his attention. He chuckled at the idea of him ever being "fat."

"If you say so kiddo!"

The kid had been seated at the dining table, and Sans pulled up the remaining chair.

Only now did he allow himself to really scrutinize his catch. He knew him for sure. He'd seen the kid play almost daily, in Snowdin's very own snow.

Sans couldn't help an uneasy smile, as the child clearly cowarded before him.

'At least the kid knows the right things to be scared of.' Sans thought, with a shrug.

He tried to think of jokes, mainly puns, to ease the tension in the room; but, he failed.

Half his mind was occupied by the boiling pot behind him.

"So... you like being called MK, right?" Asked Sans.

"Y-yep…" Said MK.

Sans raised a brow, a bit impressed. He hadn't expected an answer, with how frozen with terror the kid looked and all.

*Sizz*

The sound of a pot overflowing drew Sans's attention. Like a cooking pro, he had two bowls at the ready as he divvied out the pot's contents.

He sat back down at the table, placing a bowl within MK's reach. Fortunately, MK wasn't the type of monster than needed arms and silverware to eat.

MK was a "wyvern," if Sans's schooling was still good for something.

The kid had been real easy to tied up too, since MK lacked forearms and only had tiny, brown and tan, speckled wings; which he kept hidden underneath a ratty sweater.

Which is why Sans fixed him with a funny glare. MK hasn't touched his food.

"What? Not hungry, kiddo?"

MK stayed silent.

Sans shrugged and wasted no time in devouring his meal, swallowing chunks whole. He had to reel himself in, so that he wouldn't eat the bowl too.

When his meal was done, Sans clenched his teeth. MK still hadn't touched his.

"If you're not gonna eat that, I will."

That stirred something fierce in MK. The kid's eyes widened, then narrowed with an angry little twinkle, all over the span of a single second.

MK fished out pieces of meat with his long neck, swallowing it whole like a snake.

He made squeals of delight with every bite. Soon, he alternatived between licking the broth or sucking it up like a horse.

Sans smiled, tapping his fingers absentmindedly.

He appreciated the calm moment for what it was.


End file.
